


knock and let our walls cave in

by call_me_mick



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Angst, Chapter 17 Onwards Covers S02, Chapters 1-16 Covers S01, F/M, Letters, Retelling, Slow Burn, anyway i dont include the letters' contents, i don't know if this is considered a slow burn lmao but it is slow, i hope u like it tho with all my love !!, it’s a retelling like it has the events u see in the show but i add introspections and the like, just u know a coping mechanism lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-07-07 01:47:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 20,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15898425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/call_me_mick/pseuds/call_me_mick
Summary: “Letters?” Gilbert asked, confused to the idea as to why his father suggested such a motive.“Letters have the way that lets you see the rawness—the bare truth of what you’re feeling at the moment. When I was in the military, I’ve written a fair deal to a number of people, and it helped—,” his father paused, and Gilbert considered that maybe those days, despite his father’s great adventures, were not always as magnificent as he would proclaim, “—well, it helped me."Of which uncovers Gilbert’s perspective upon meeting the ever-brilliant Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from the songs ‘Never Knock’ by Kevin Garrett and ‘Heart’ by Sleeping At Last
> 
> when i first heard of Kevin Garrett's [‘Never Knock’](https://open.spotify.com/user/f5eefzkqwyf9wy4f1hq7zk6qk/playlist/2AwpmFGVg0yyuhjQmfv8iQ?si=JaJatoVGQ2ClG4gcOptkMA), the first thing that came into my mind is, ‘fuck, this is so gil’ and Sleeping At Last's [‘Heart’](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BiDI4B18t3Y) will always have a special place in my heart bc well it’s so utterly beautiful and it makes me feel things that i never knew i could feel lmao
> 
> here's the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/f5eefzkqwyf9wy4f1hq7zk6qk/playlist/5hSbxdd19WMk78ZFV7c7oz?si=D5sLNQN4Rou7q7Ddw6HlqA) that i've used while writing with all my love
> 
> hhhhhh i've found writing quite enjoyable now because of you beautiful people i love u all for real bless your hearts and souls forever, especially to [swishandflickwit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swishandflickwit/pseuds/swishandflickwit) ur support and patience are making my heart sing u have my entire love u beautiful soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of which Gilbert makes a mistake.

**1.**

 

The moment he had realized that the girl with the ever so brilliant—ever so bewitching nature was about to flee from the scene he had unintentionally caused with that neglected cherry apple and _that_ inadvertent insult, with her tears a few seconds away from falling, Gilbert Blythe found himself tempted to run after the girl to apologize for his shortcomings, but stopped himself, realizing that more violent acts were more likely to occur instead of the hopeful prospect of forgiveness. Their schoolmaster found the situation completely tiresome, seeing as the class continuously refused to heed to his warnings. However, after Mister Phillips had finally settled the commotion in his classroom caused by the orphan girl he had apparent prejudices with, he resumed the order of their typical, Tuesday afternoon, and proceeded to propose more sums for his students to solve, leaving Gilbert to settle his own internal qualms alone. As the clock struck four, they were dismissed, and no further consultations were arranged to discuss the events that occurred just a few hours ago.

Gilbert attempted to catch the attention of their teacher, hopeful that he might offer some advice but found him too engaged with his conversation with Prissy Andrews, their distance a little too inappropriate for the ideals of the community. Gilbert, however, was too engrossed with his own matters to notice the impropriety occurring before his eyes and quickly grabbed his belongings to try and settle the disastrous event that he had caused. Taking the route straight to Green Gables, he desperately tried to rehearse his apology, repeatedly whispering his anxieties to the wind, but upon his arrival to the Cuthbert’s property, he was greeted by a departing Diana Barry, bearing a troubled look, and looking a little baffled to encounter Gilbert on her way home.

“Diana—,” he tried to start, but his earlier rehearsals failed to profess his guilt. Thus, he was now finding himself reproaching his cowardly and impertinent disposition, for if he was already failing to address his regrets to her friend, what more when he would be facing Anne herself? Diana, however, had noticed his anxieties and rescued him from it.

“I suspect you’re here to apologize to Anne, but I fear this isn’t the right time, Gilbert. She’s—,” she paused, and offered a sad, sympathetic smile for his efforts, “she’s not ready to see you yet. Why don’t you come back tomorrow?” Diana Barry gave him a light pat on his shoulder, posed another kind smile, and left him alone with his thoughts. He felt relief, that's for sure and certain, however, he continued to dread about the possible outcomes that would transpire when he would finally confront this matter.

 _How could I be so stupid?_ he harshly mused, finally stopping himself from holding his breath, and eventually forced his way home. He just wanted to reach out to the girl who had an entrancing way with words, as if she was singing every syllable she voices; the girl with a delicate smile when she introduced herself, and apologized for her earlier display of incivility, reflecting a sincerity that spoke more than the beams of some in their small community; and the same girl with big, expressive eyes, capable of forming an assortment of beauty at its highest possible peak. When he recounted the events to his father during their afternoon tea, he received a face of displeasure from the last person he wanted to disappoint and drowned himself further with his guilt.

“Women are not playthings, son,” John Blythe maintained, stifling his coughs to deliver an important lecture, “they are people, and they deserve your respect as any other. If you do find yourself fancying the girl—”

“—I don’t—,”

“—there are better ways to catch her interests, but you have to apologize whether you like her or not. She deserves as much. If she doesn’t accept right away, give her time because it was _you_ who was at fault, but continue to be respectful. Be the best person that you can be, and I’m telling you, son, if it’s meant to be, she’ll fall straight into your arms,” his father provided, finally having the chance to cough up his phlegm, with his diligent son offering a wet cloth at his disposal.

“I don’t think she’s the kind of person who’ll willingly fall into my arms, dad,” Gilbert pondered, caressing the cheek that could still evoke the temper of Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, but immediately pointed out his father’s misconception of Gilbert’s sentiments to the girl. John Blythe released a rather boisterous laugh—something he had not done in a while, and Gilbert experienced a warmth flow through his body after seeing a short glimpse of his dad’s previous self before his illness took over, but also felt his face heat up, considering the thought that he was being teased by his own father—and about a girl too!

“I’ll tell you right here and now, son,” his father offered after hacking a new set of phlegm from his sudden outburst, “if you think a girl’s voice is enough that you can hear melodies in its place, you’re already a lost cause, my boy.” Gilbert Blythe tried to ignore another stream of unwelcomed warmth rush through his cheeks and asked his teasing father if he wanted another cup of tea.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On which Gilbert takes a morning stroll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i suggest you listen to Benji Lewis' ['For You'](https://open.spotify.com/track/0BpmwKOu4dszvYlMVAtFpj) for this chapter but it's ur choice my babies !!
> 
> here's the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/f5eefzkqwyf9wy4f1hq7zk6qk/playlist/5hSbxdd19WMk78ZFV7c7oz?si=D5sLNQN4Rou7q7Ddw6HlqA) that i've used while writing with all my love

**2.**

 

Gilbert Blythe found himself strolling outside during the early hours of the morning before the sun had even graced the heavens with its thermal flame, for he felt the need to consider his words carefully in preparation for the inevitable confrontation with the girl who appeared to be as bright and warm as the sun itself. Thinking about Anne caused him to remember his conversation with his father yesterday afternoon, and how the likelihood of his romantic feelings towards the girl was growing more and more— _real_ than he would have hoped. He met her yesterday! How could a girl be able to fascinate him without his full consciousness?

 _Yes,_ he pondered, digging his hands further down his pockets, _she is cute_. He had spoken no lies when he proclaimed that the girl was cute among his friends because she was. Despite looking absolutely terrified with that brute Billy Andrews in one minute, she immediately regained her composure in the next. Pestering her for her name might not have been his proudest moment though. _I’ve got to apologize for that too_ , he considered, but there was just something about her that opposed his need to put up a front. She was like a lever that released him from all his troubles, even if it was only for a short while. He did recall his father’s counsels though that if he wanted someone to like him, he should aim to be the best person that he can be, and yes. He wanted her to like him—he absolutely longed for it, which confused him even more. He supposed it was because he never really _tried_ before. People had always adored him ever since he was a small child—be it those esteemed landlords, their wives, his classmates—even strangers outside of Avonlea appeared to be enamored by his charms, and he exploited that inexhaustible fondness by causing an abundance of mischiefs, particularly his continual offenses to his peers in their earlier youth.

However, as his father grew weaker and weaker, the boy in him must be contained, or its immaturity might hinder him from taking care of his father. His growth from being—if he was being honest—a bully to ‘a real, fine gentleman’ as Mrs. Lynde and her brood of prattling hens would label him, caused him to be more popular than before. Girls were praying for him to be their future husband, and boys were reaching out and inviting him to be their friend more than before, making Gilbert rather pleased with his current status, especially since school was the only place he gets to be a chi—, _no_ , he bit, _don’t go there, Gil_. Gilbert’s sharp censure shook him from his musings, and he found himself only a few miles away from the Cuthbert’s property. He considered that it was best to get it over with before this entire matter goes out of hand. He really did long to build a friendship with this enchanting girl, but as he drew closer and closer to Green Gables, with the sky gradually being tinted, growing more and more similar to the shade of _her_ crown, he retreated.

“Gilbert Blythe?” a familiar voice frantically blurted out in surprise, and he had to inhale to stifle the frustrating proceedings that were currently occurring this early in the morning, “whatever’s the matter, child? Is your father faring well?”

“Good morning, Miss Cuthbert. I’m awfully sorry for upsetting you so early in the morning. Dad is—,” he paused, trying to search for the right words for his father’s current condition because informing the elderly woman that ‘he usually coughs up blood from time to time, but all was well and dandy,’ would likely frighten her to death, “—dad is the same, thank you kindly for asking. I was just taking a stroll before preparing to leave for school. I’ll take my leave now, Miss Cuthbert. I’m sorry again for the ruckus. Good day to you.” Being caught wandering about the land of the adoptive mother of the person he unintentionally offended was certainly not the best way to start his pending apology, so he tried to escape this dreadfully awkward situation before another occurrence emerged, particularly starring the fiery redhead he desperately wanted to avoid for the time being, but before he could take another step, Marilla Cuthbert called his name once again, causing his entire body to stiffen. The question that escaped her tongue was the last thing he thought she would say, but it allowed him to at least release a sigh of relief.

“Would you care for a scone? I’ve baked plenty, so take some for you and your father,” the elderly woman offered, and based on his father’s tales from his youth, Marilla Cuthbert was a dreadfully determined and resolute woman. Since declining her offer would lead to more unfavorable exchanges, he politely thanked the woman, and cautiously followed her to their kitchen, grateful for the warmth of the burning stove.

Gilbert Blythe, however, stood stiffly by the door in case Anne would come marching down with her vibrancy too—too _fierce_ for him to handle. He would swiftly flee out to the cool, early morning air, away from the sun he, at the moment, could not entirely handle because of fear, and other things he buried deep beneath his being. Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, however, failed to make an appearance, making Gilbert feel rather conflicted on whether he found her absence more comforting or more disheartening. Marilla Cuthbert appeared to be aware of the ongoing conflict that was causing her guest's uneasiness but restrained herself from adding more burdens into this boy’s mind especially with his father presently rotting in his bed. After Marilla had placed a generous amount of pastries into a wicker basket, Gilbert Blythe had once again addressed his appreciation of Marilla’s hospitality. However, before he could turn the latch of the Cuthbert’s kitchen door, Marilla bade a suggestion regarding her adoptive daughter.

“It will take time, Gilbert, I’m afraid.” Gilbert needed no further explanation and nodded his head in understanding and gratitude as well. Bidding his farewells, he closed the door behind him, and strode towards home, trying to disregard the heavy weight in his stomach after realizing how much he had spoiled everything before something can even begin.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of which Gilbert tries, but fails, so his father offers a resolution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've used Matt Corby's ['Resolution'](https://open.spotify.com/track/3Q4XRpk21TVZD98QsRJgDR) for this chapter but still ur choice babies
> 
> here's the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/f5eefzkqwyf9wy4f1hq7zk6qk/playlist/5hSbxdd19WMk78ZFV7c7oz?si=D5sLNQN4Rou7q7Ddw6HlqA) that i've used while writing with all my love

**3.**

 

Weeks and weeks had passed, yet Anne continued to be absent from her seat beside a grieving Diana Barry. The girl looked absolutely lonely and grief-stricken, making Gilbert Blythe more regretful for causing their separation. He had known Diana his whole life. He had pulled her hair, called her a crow, and made her cry countless of times that he had lost count, but the first time he saw her dark eyes distinctly glisten as if she was seeing the stars that were reigning from the heavens was when she was with Anne. Diana Barry, as the daughter of a notable English proprietor, held the title of being one of the primmest and proper among his peers, but seeing her frolic around with Anne as a child that she was supposed to be, made him feel warm. He assumed Diana shared the same sentiments that they did not need to put up fronts in her presence because Anne would welcome them as they are. The thought made Gilbert more frustrated though. Although he and his father had an agreement based on Marilla Cuthbert’s counsel to temporarily cease his attempts to apologize to the girl, it had already been more than a month since that incident occurred, and every day continued to haunt him since he could have been friends with her by now—or so he would hope. Still, he knew his father always meant well, so he obediently followed his instructions, especially with John Blythe’s condition growing progressively worse than before. Nevertheless, he continued to force his son to attend school.

“You’re young,” his father asserted the other day, “you should experience your youth as much as you can. _I’m still here_ , son.” Gilbert purposely arrived late that day, for he found explaining to his classmates why his eyes were red completely troublesome. _They wouldn’t understand anyway_ , Gilbert added and directed his attention on his reader before their schoolmaster notices his negligence.

His daily routine continued until school ended its summer term, and harvest season was now in place. His father, too weak to manage their entire plantation, had left Gilbert to handle a portion of it. Although hesitant at first, especially since the boy also had his school affairs to worry about, Gilbert’s persuasions charmed his father, especially with the comforting reassurance that he would receive help from his friends, Charlie Sloane and Moody Spurgeon every now and then. Thus, the boys worked diligently in managing the fields in some mornings and afternoons. Come harvest, however, Gilbert found himself every so often alone with his thoughts, since his friends also had their own chores to carry out. The continual occurrence of his thoughts as his constant company had led him to seek for his father’s support, for it had now been over two months since then, and the guilt was now troubling him in his sleep.

“I’m going over to the Cuthberts this afternoon, dad,” he told his father who was taking a bite of a gingersnap biscuit Mrs. Kincannon had baked earlier today, “I haven’t returned the basket to Miss Cuthbert, and I—I really want to see Anne—to see how she’s faring, I mean,”

“Well now,” John Blythe started, taking a look at his son, and saw a boy dreadfully determined to fulfill his purpose, “I hope you’ll succeed in your quest.” His father smiled at him, and Gilbert returned a weak grin, trying to decipher whether the term ‘quest’ as if was a brave knight off to slay a monstrous beast, or off to find an unknown treasure hidden beneath the depths of the earth was intentional. He supposed the experience was similar, with the beast equating to the horrible first impressions he had shown to Anne, or the treasure likening to the beautiful friendship he wished they could share. Of course, dreams were dreams for a purpose, and knights, no matter how valiant and fierce they might first appear would always undergo challenges that would test their inner strengths of which in Gilbert Blythe’s part was the eyes of undoubtful loathing and absolute disgust from the person he had wished to see for a long time after Marilla called her down upon his arrival. Anne Shirley-Cuthbert refused to say one word to him and openly displayed how much his presence had ruined her entire week by reverting her steps and deafeningly crashing the door from her upstairs bedroom. Marilla Cuthbert offered her sympathies to the rejected boy. “Perhaps she just needs more time,” comforted the elderly lady, “thank you for the apples, Gilbert. Give my kind regards to your father.”

Back to the comforts of his home, appearing rather dejected from his unsuccessful pursuit, his father proposed a method that would hopefully uplift his beaten spirit, _and heart_ , John Blythe thoughtfully added.

“Letters?” Gilbert asked, confused to the idea as to why his father suggested such a motive.

“Letters have the way that lets you see the rawness—the bare truth of what you’re feeling at the moment. When I was in the military, I’ve written a fair deal to a number of people, and it helped—,” his father paused, and Gilbert considered that maybe those days, despite his father’s great adventures, were not always as magnificent as he would proclaim, “—well, it helped me. I recall you enjoyed it quite a lot when you were little, eh?” Gilbert recollected those days when his father would open an aged box filled with letters he was not able to mail because of time and costs constraints and read to him some of the letters in place of fairy tales and his favorite poems. His father’s hearty laughs would often fill his room, but occasionally, tears would stream down his cheeks. When little Gilbert would notice his sobs, he would place his hand gently on his father’s face and softly shake his head until his father would smile again. He found it unfair that in a few years, it would be him reading to his father, with his tears always inches away from falling. _But never mind that now_ , he thought, thanked his father for his suggestion, and kissed his head goodnight.

He was, again, alone with his thoughts in the privacy of his room, and it troubled him greatly because the events of today's afternoon appeared too overwhelming for his soul to take. Thus, with his father’s idea constantly ringing in his head, he took an unused parchment from the trunk near his bed, studied his words before he realizes that nobody, but him would read this anyhow, and thus wrote his heart out beginning with the acknowledgments, inscribed in a careful script of _Dear Anne._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of which Gilbert has a realization.

**4.**

 

Mrs. Rachel Lynde insisted the idea that John Blythe required her weekly visitations to indulge him about the comings and goings of their small community as one of the founding members of the board of trustees, and as well as being an old acquaintance. Thus, here she sat at the stool near John Blythe’s bed, with her tea growing cold, but her laughter ever so full because despite his condition, John continued to satisfy Rachel Lynde’s hidden need to reminisce about their nostalgic youth. Gilbert would often join them, ever so keen to hear about his father’s formative years, particularly with the knowledge that he was a positive flirt who often had no sense of decorum. The surprise on Gilbert’s face after learning that Marilla Cuthbert had been the one to tame his father’s flirtatious nature was a sight to behold, especially with his father’s additional remark, “What can I say? The Cuthberts just have their ways of making us Blythes feel as if we’re in heaven.” Rachel Lynde released a warm chuckle in response but immediately changed the topic, careful not to go into the discussion of _why_ John Blythe decided not to pursue Marilla Cuthbert.

However, a few days after Anne blatantly rejected his attempt to apologize, Gilbert found Rachel Lynde sitting at her usual place beside his father’s bed, talking about the one and only Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. Rachel Lynde reminded his father about her first encounter with Anne, and how the girl exclaimed how much of a ‘rude, unfeeling woman’ Rachel was. Gilbert expected to see Mrs. Lynde profess her humiliation for such judgment, but she surprised him, for she spoke so tenderly about her instead. “She grows on you, I’m telling you,” Rachel Lynde averred, “odd—yes, and too smart and outspoken for her own good, but the change she has caused since her arrival to Green Gables is good. Very good, indeed.”

“I’d love to meet her,” his father expressed, “I’ve already heard some _very_ nice things about her from my son.” The way he heard his father emphasize ‘very nice’ made Gilbert’s face heat up. Although she had not been to school for more than two months, he still saw her around town. He was careful though, not to let her see him, but sometimes, he found himself parading his presence since he longed for a second where she would look at him with her big, blue eyes. Just a second, though, for he knew that if that exceeded, he would probably melt simply by her gaze—that passionate, fiery gaze—alone.

Gilbert appeared before any word were exchanged between the two aging friends, for he did not really wish for the most renowned gossip of their town to hear about his growing affections for the girl from the best source she could acquire it from. Thus, the subject had been graciously replaced with the probable courtship between their schoolmaster, Mr. Phillips, and Priscilla Andrews.

 

☾ 

 

He heard the bells ring at four in the morning, making him rush to the windows, and find a distinct blaze set off from a near distance. Fire. Someone’s house was _on_ _fire_ , and it petrified Gilbert for a second, for bad things did not often occur in their pretty and sheltered town, yet here it was—just a few miles within his reach.

“Son?” a voice weakly called. Gilbert rushed to his father’s side and quickly examined him. His father was running a fever, so Gilbert took the liberty to stay by his side no matter how many reassurances he received from him, for the likelihood of John Blythe spewing blood once again was growing increasingly high.

“There’s a fire in town,” Gilbert reported, “will you be all right with Mrs. Kincannon for a few hours?”

“I’ll be fine. You go on, and help, son,” his father assured. Although hesitant at first, Gilbert kissed his father’s head, bidding that he would return as soon as possible. He moved to the kitchen to see Mrs. Kincannon already grabbing the buckets from the cellar. He thanked the older woman and left to mount the mare as fast as he could. As he drew closer and closer to the prominent, thermal tint painting the darkness, he recognized that it was the Gillis’ house, and felt a dread crept through his skin. However, after seeing Ruby and her family in a safe distance away from the blazing fire swallowing their home, Gilbert felt relieved, for although he did not entirely care for the girl, she was still his classmate. He dismounted his steed a few blocks away from the commotion, fastened it to a near tree, and grabbed the buckets he had carried to pass it out to the men who welcomed his arrival.

Someone had shouted for the ladder, so Gilbert took the initiative to grab it from the nearby wagon. Billy Andrews greeted him with a nod, and the two helped each other to rush the item towards an open window. From a distance, he heard a voice shout Anne’s name, making his heart skip, but he remembered himself, and quickly rose to the steps, urging others for the buckets. The smoke from the searing household pieces was making him gag, but he continued to pour water as fast and as precise as he could. Someone had now begun screaming for Anne’s name, and it caused him alarm, yet persisted with his doings. However, after a few minutes, he spied someone dashing through the halls, and his heart sank, for he only knew one person who would bravely—and recklessly—run towards a burning building. When he finally saw her face, too determined than his heart could take, he could only call for her name in desperation, but he was met with a disregarded gesture of the door closing behind her. He was terrified now because he wanted nothing more than to run to where she was, and reprimand her about her absolute abandon, but he had his own duties to keep. As soon as he climbed the steps of the ladder, he carried the hopes of his neighbors, and he knew that he had to finish what he began. Thus, despite the growing fear for the safety of the girl with the ever so brilliant spirit, he persuaded his mind to carry out his own tasks. _But after this, Anne_ , he decisively considered, _I swear to God I will come and knock some sense into you, so please—please be safe_. The firewagon arrived shortly after, but Gilbert still stood his ground, and helped extinguish the fire even though he was inches away from giving up because of the constant reminder that _Anne was inside the burning house_! However, after a few minutes, an unfamiliar voice sequentially shouted in a distance, “She’s all right!” — “She ran inside!”— “Anne slowed down the fire!” — “It was Anne! She did it!” These heartening news warmed Gilbert’s poor, tattered heart, and resumed with his duties to help put out the now dwindling fire. A short while after, it finally subdued, and all Gilbert wanted was to lie on his bed. _But after this_ , he held with his eyes locked on the girl with the fiery hair and temper, now covered in soot, but still so beautiful than ever—her perseverance and daring unequaled, and her soul ever so thunderous and magnificent—as the insipid speech from their minister echoed throughout the weary hearts of the public.

However, after the blessing was delivered, and Mrs. Rachel Lynde announced the plans of the Gillis staying at the Barrys’, the Cuthberts’, and themselves, he found himself unable to move as he watched Ruby Gillis throwing a tantrum after learning that she will be staying with the Cuthberts, and Diana Barry defending Anne, and expressing her pride for the gallantry of her bosom friend.

“It’s all right. Don’t worry,” he heard Anne kindly offer to a tearful Ruby, “I’m sure no one will think you’re my friend.” Gilbert, in observing the Cuthberts and Ruby Gillis’ departure, finally understood why Anne had been so definite with her decision not to talk to him. Ruby Gillis’ infatuation towards him was not a secret among their small community. He supposed Anne was just prioritizing a promising friendship between her and the other girls. After grasping this realization, the guilt from his horrid actions towards the ever so thoughtful Anne began to haunt him more, but as he arrived at his father’s room, with John Blythe patiently waiting for him with a cup of tea between his hands, Gilbert kissed his father’s head, and animatedly narrated the events of how heroic and marvelous and _beautiful_ Anne was all the more so.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of which Gilbert observes the fiery temper of Anne Shirley-Cuthbert

**5.**

 

The boys among their community were invited by the minister to help rebuild the ruins of the Gillis’ house. Gilbert, although rather hesitant at first, especially when with his father grew more and more ill at each passing minute, was encouraged by John Blythe to assist with the reconstruction. “Enjoy the fresh air before it gets too cold, eh, son?” his father prompted, and with a sly grin, he added, “who knows, you might even get to see Anne.” Gilbert’s felt his cheeks flush, making his father pleased at Gilbert’s constant expressions whenever the girl was mentioned. Nevertheless, Gilbert remained willful since he really wanted to spend as much time as possible with his father, especially since school would start again soon. The two formed an agreement that Gilbert could help out every other day, so they could both satisfy their own wishes. Thus, two days after the fire, Gilbert found himself pounding a hammer at the Gillis’ roof with Billy Andrews— _of all people_. Billy occasionally tried to start a conversation with him, but he preferred they worked in silence, especially since it was cold, and he would rather be at home with his father near a warm blazing hearth.

“Put your backs into it boys!” called the minister from below, making Gilbert puff in irritation, but he continued to do his tasks without further complaint. However, Billy Andrews had announced a statement that really tested his patience.

“Hey, look! It’s the freak and her new twin sister!” Gilbert struggled to keep his exasperation at bay and eyed the welcoming sight of Anne—the beautiful, thoughtful Anne, with Ruby Gillis carrying a large basket of presumably cookies.

“As long as they bring food, I don’t care if it’s Quasimodo,” he expressed, his eyes still locked on Anne. Ruby Gillis, however, appeared too distracted with her surroundings that it led to her falling face down to the cold ground. Billy Andrews, being the great brute that he was, laughed at the sight of the crying girl, and proclaimed, “girls are so useless,” with a mocking grin. “Guess you should’ve stayed home in the kitchen, eh?” That very pronouncement earned the wrath of the redhead from below, so Gilbert took the opportunity to return the tools to a nearby box, and prepared to descend from the roof to help the poor girl who was still sitting in the dirt— _and of course to see Anne up close_.

“What is wrong with you?!” Anne shouted from below, ever so rich and powerful, that it was making Gilbert’s heart race faster than ever.

“Go home and bake cookies!” Billy returned with a weak contention that infuriated Gilbert more, so he tried to join in even though he knew very well that Anne could take on Billy Andrews by herself.

“Headline: they already did!” he directed and swiftly climbed down the steps of the ladder with Anne’s thunderous voice echoing in the background.

“This is Ruby’s property, or did you forget?!”

“Why don’t you shove off and leave the men to their work?” Gilbert felt the embarrassment that he was associated with Billy Andrews and all the other Billy Andrewses in the world. He really did not understand why such displays of absurdity and hollowness had led other men to think that they were the superior breed, and it really was making him feel uncomfortable and disgusted to think that he too was considered a man. The shame. He felt apologetic for the female race who had to tolerate the senselessness of men, and he considered himself among those fools, especially with the display he had shown when he was little, and to the girl with the ever-radiant crown.

“Why don’t you give me that hammer and I’ll finish the job myself if you’re too busy being a bully to get it done!” Anne announced with her temper and wit unparalleled to anyone in the world that Gilbert just wanted to drop to his knees, and— _well, that seems odd_ , he mused, _even for me_ , so he dismissed those rather—peculiar thoughts, and jogged towards the girl on the ground. He extended his arm, and carried the light weight of Ruby Gillis, and proceeded to grab her fallen hat, dusting off the dirt from the ground with the uncontrollable urge to eye the girl who had been the star of his dreams since the day they met.

“Thank you, Gilbert,” Ruby Gillis expressed, her eyes unquestionably sparkling from Gilbert’s close presence. _Yes_ , he did want to help the girl—that much was true, but the inclination for his courteous gesture was heavily attributed to the fact that he would only be a few inches away from Anne. A distance that had not occurred ever since she slapped his cheek with her slate. So here he was, profiting off his gallantry for the sake of being in the same proximity as Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. His father would be disappointed, that's for sure and certain.

“Yeah, of course. Thanks for, uh—coming by to help feed the beasts,” he offered, but immediately winced at his gag, especially with Anne blatantly refusing to meet his eyes. _She’s probably embarrassed by me too_ , he thought. Consequently, the arrival of Matthew Cuthbert had brought a new set of discomfort, seeing as Gilbert was left with a gawking Ruby Gillis, but he tried to think of other ways to capture Anne’s interests. After the Cuthberts’ exchange declined, he gathered up his courage to start a conversation with her, probably in the lines of asking her for a scone. However, the only thing he was able to utter was ‘um,’ but that nevertheless caught her attention. In a short second, he thought he saw a smile forming, but of course, since Ruby Gillis was also in the same vicinity, Anne understandably prioritized the other girl’s presence, leaving Gilbert rejected once again. The boy fiddled with his pockets to resist the urge to knock his head on the ground because of such display of unease. He watched her leave, but not without a parting poise directed towards the minister himself.

“You were right, Minister, honesty is the best policy. And it’s also very satisfying.” Seeing the minister babble on, trying to search for a better response to return to the girl _was_ satisfying, and it made Gilbert chuckle by how utterly swell and stirring the girl was every time. He narrated the events to his father, of course, and John Blythe was pleased, especially since he had grown to like the redheaded girl from Gilbert’s stories.

“She reminds me so much of Marilla,” his father fondly proclaimed, “I bet they often have a battle of who’s feistier, eh?” Gilbert was often finding himself curious about his father’s romantic past with Marilla Cuthbert, but he supposed that if his father really wanted to share such delicate matters with him, he would, at the right time.

After kissing his father’s head goodnight, he dressed down to his nighties, traced the growing thickness of the letters he had addressed to Anne, his father, Moody, Charlie, and even to his mother, and smiled to himself, for the growing acceptance of how much he liked the girl was making him feel at peace for once. Thus, he wrote another letter directed to Anne as a way to conclude a very pleasant day indeed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of which Gilbert apologizes for his shortcomings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think this is a little fluffy so im gonna rec u guys another [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/f5eefzkqwyf9wy4f1hq7zk6qk/playlist/2pKErNGJ0CIHtB3x3rXORY?si=mi-1KwiFS46Y90Goo0Atew) lmao bc the other one is too sad lol with all my love !
> 
> i think the perfect song for this is The Paper Kites' ['Bloom'](https://open.spotify.com/track/44alNkXsYnTyPnkMdohBcx) but again, ur choice my babies i hope u like it !
> 
> i suspect diana might be a little ooc but !!!!!!! i just want her to like have a more significant role in defining their relationship as the first member of the shirbert shippers society lmao

**6.**

 

“Hello, Gilbert,” a familiar voice called, making Gilbert shift his attention towards the person beside him instead of the girl who was looking rather flushed after the Gillis’ had once again expressed their gratitude for her shrewdness and bravery. Diana Barry stood next to him, also observing the scene of Anne blushing, and Matthew and Marilla Cuthbert resonating their pride for having “such a capable girl, indeed!” as Mr. Gillis had graciously proclaimed.

“Diana,” Gilbert greeted cautiously, for it was rather odd to discover Diana beside him instead of Anne’s.

“I’m glad the Gillis’ house was rebuilt as scheduled,” the dark-haired girl continued, still eyeing her bosom friend from across the room. The redhead was now thanking Mrs. Gillis for presenting her with a plate of strawberry tarts, with Anne’s smile emitting a formidable strength that made Gilbert fully fix his attention to Diana, for his knees were already shaking just by the thought of how lovely the girl’s smile was.

“Yes, Diana—,” he started clumsily, “can I help you with anything?” The girl presented a scheming beam, making Gilbert wonder whether he had really known Diana Barry all his life, or he just failed to notice her true character.

“I want you to apologize to Anne,” Diana Barry politely appealed, but with a powerful influence behind the civility. Gilbert assumed this was how politicians fashioned their personas. “You have greatly wronged her, and she deserves your apology whether she accepts it or not.”

“I’ve tried,” he returned, once again eyeing the girl who was now laughing along with Ruby Gillis, “you were the one who told me not to that day. I returned the day after, but Miss Cuthbert told me that she needed time, so I waited until harvest and visited her, but she still refused to talk to me. I know she deserves my apology, I just wish she’d let me.” He did not mean to pour out his frustrations to the best friend of his offended person. He did not wish for Diana Barry to pity his circumstances because he knew he was at fault, but he also did not want her to think that he was not trying. _And I’ll continue trying_ , he mentally declared, _until she bids to go away forever_. He supposed his first mistake was being too provoking, and he was learning from that despite the ever-constant hopelessness that she will never allow him to be her friend.

“I’m afraid that might be the case,” Diana sighed, “I’m sorry I assumed that you weren’t trying without further knowledge. I just miss her is all. Nevertheless—I have a plan!” Gilbert saw an unusual confidence emanating from the girl, making his stomach feel warm, for this was—for certain—caused by Anne’s liberating influence.

“Are you sure she won’t run off or hit me again?” The idea of her hitting him was comical for him at first because he really did not mind the sting of her slate. He was just glad that she finally talked to him. But of course, he failed to consider the impact of his unintended torments at the moment until he saw how she was solely being _humiliated_ by their horrible teacher as if her entire being was the very bane of his existence. Gilbert really cannot fathom why they had Mr. Phillips as their schoolmaster. He was apathetic, prejudiced, uncaring altogether. Gilbert longed for the time when they would actually encounter a dedicated teacher who actually cared for their students. The harsh treatments that Anne continually had to suffer because of some judgmental people in their town were unfair and plain cruel. After hearing Rachel Lynde expose Mrs. Harmon Andrews’ branding of the girl as a ‘trollop’ for Anne’s mistake of uncovering the relationship between their teacher and Prissy Andrews, he finally understood where Billy Andrews had adopted that repulsive behavior. He supposed he should not be quick to judge though, seeing as his father was a lovely man, yet that did not stop Gilbert from being a complete terror when he was a kid. _I’m trying to grow out of it though_ , he supplied. Nevertheless, he hoped Jane would not espouse the same principles.

Considering how dreadful their community’s initial impressions of Anne had been, in addition to his arrival that was accompanied with his own unsolicited teasing, and the growing revulsion that their classmates were subjecting towards her, no wonder Anne refused to set foot in school anymore. He supposed her daring had produced more welcoming invitations among their community, but he still found it unfair. Anne should not subject to risking her life just to be liked—that was plain and simple! He was glad she had Diana though, even though the dark-haired girl was also suffering from the probability of ostracism among their peers, but nonetheless, he was glad.

“Oh, we’ve already settled that. She pinky-promised me that she’ll be in her best behavior, so don’t worry. You be in your best behavior too, all right?” she finished quickly, for Anne was already calling her to her side. “Meet me afterward at the Lake of Shining Waters!” Gilbert gestured a confused look due to the unfamiliar title of an apparent location in their town, so Diana clarified with a loud, clear voice, “Barry’s Pond!” Fortunately, the party was too absorbed with their own affairs to remark on Diana Barry’s uncharacteristic disposition. Both men and women were celebrating the reconstruction of the Gillis’ house with a variety of cookies and snaps prepared by the ever-growing number of housewives in their community. Thus, their preoccupation had left Gilbert feeling rather pleased at the first, proper interaction he had with Diana Barry. The party started to decrease, with each household preparing to depart towards the comforts of their own homes. Gilbert did not intend to stay too long, but his father encouraged him to allow the Gillises to thank him and the others for a job well done, so he socialized with his friends until Diana Barry marked the signal of their meeting by excusing him from his friends, and almost dragging him out of the door. He really did enjoy the aberrant nature of Diana today, but at the moment he eyed a glint of red literally glittering as the afternoon sun drew an outline that could only manifest the one and only Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, he felt his stomach drop and his heart beat faster than before.

“Diana—,” he tried to start because the fear of likely experiencing a repeated rejection from the girl who equated the brilliance of the sun itself was advancing now more than ever. He really wanted to run away and hide to his father’s side, but Diana Barry’s grip on his arm was stronger than he would have thought, leaving him powerless to her determination. Diana Barry settled him directly across the sun that could melt him just by her gaze alone, but he understood that he had to settle this. This inevitable exchange had been delayed long enough, so after gathering all of his courage and cheek, he basically screamed his apology at her.

“I’m terribly sorry for my actions, Anne. I’ve been insensitive to the position that I’ve put you in, disrespectful to your personal space, and unmindful to the consequences of my actions. I understand your grudge against me. I didn’t mean to tease you about your red hair. I—I think your hair is rather pretty actually, but that was no excuse for my behavior. I’m grateful that you have given me the opportunity to apologize. You don’t know how happy you’ve made me—as if the heavens itself have opened—,” Gilbert faltered from his line of thought, for he believed that he was a few seconds away from expressing his unwelcomed adoration for the girl, and he suspected she was probably not ready to hear such proclamation at the moment. Even he was not ready to hear such proclamation! Panic forced him to meet those ever enchanting eyes, expecting to see the cold stare she had given him when he visited Green Gables the other day but found a sparkle of humor reflecting from her eyes as she appeared to try to stop herself from laughing at him. Embarrassment rushed within every fiber of Gilbert’s being, as his entire body felt hot and bothered at the thought that his apology was being ridiculed. He tried to start again, but he failed to find the right words, feeling rather defeated at the situation he was in. He supposed he deserves this reception, especially with how his actions had affected her. Thus, he offered a quick nod and muttered an apology once again as he prepared to leave this uncomfortable situation, but was stopped by a light pat emitting from the ever so radiant Anne.

“Thank you, Gilbert,” she returned with the same, genuine smile she had gestured to him, and him alone when she had finally graced him of her name before the world disrupted the beauty that was occurring at that transcendental moment. He felt like he was flying, being sanctified by the very presence of that incomparable smile. Oh heavens, he was certain nothing would surmount this sublimity! He felt like it was his first time taking a breath of fresh air in the longest time, and he knew it in his heart that this was true.

He was not able to start again, for fear his words might dilute the beauty of this divine instant, so he only watched the departure of the two girls, with Anne practically leaving a trail of blossoms with every step. When he was certain he was alone, with the beam of the twilight magnifying the stars that made the stream appear more lustrous than he had ever seen, he crouched into a ball with his hands covering his face, for nothing—except his moments with his father of course—could ever rival the feeling of his utmost glee, for Anne had finally forgiven him, even blessing him a smile! Oh, all the heavens had truly opened, indeed!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of which Gilbert tries to approach the one and only Anne Shirley-Cuthbert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao i'm v sorry for the delay life is ........... well bad these past few days but i do hope u enjoy this lol
> 
> here's the fluffy [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/f5eefzkqwyf9wy4f1hq7zk6qk/playlist/2pKErNGJ0CIHtB3x3rXORY?si=mi-1KwiFS46Y90Goo0Atew) i used Message To Bears' ['Moonlight'](https://open.spotify.com/track/31QuXhy09js64az8vRvAKc) for this chapter but still ur choice love u lots
> 
> there'll be lots of fluff in the following chapters i think so yeah lmao

**7.**

 

The arrival of the school year's winter term had kindled the heart of the young Gilbert Blythe, for Anne had appeared at the doorway just before Mr. Phillips had started their English lesson. Diana and Ruby had expressed their uncontainable joy for having her back at school. Gilbert shared the delight of the two girls, but he believed he felt it— _differently_. Before he managed to discern the heat that flowed throughout his body, as if flowers had blossomed inside his stomach with butterflies soaring in all shapes and sizes, Moody Spurgeon had roused him from his trance with a crumbled paper tossed at his direction and gestured a sly, knowing grin. Gilbert returned a weak chuckle, and turned his attention back to the board, trying to overlook how fast his heart was racing.

The day moved quickly, with lunch arriving without his full notice, and Gilbert found himself holding a cherry apple, with a resolute purpose of offering it to the girl with the radiant crown. However, at every laughter that escaped the confines of the lace-trimmed handkerchief that marked like a border between him and Anne, he felt his stomach drop. Thus, lunch hour had come to an end, leaving him defeated as he sat with the cherry apple still locked between his hands.

“Are you planning on giving that to Anne again?” Moody inquired, far too amused than Gilbert would have liked, but Gilbert only shook his head, and placed the cherry apple back to his lunch basket, leaving it forgotten until the rest of the afternoon. At four, Mr. Phillips dismissed the class but instructed Anne to stay and help straighten the classroom—a chore that was required from everyone, in place of compensating her long absence. This earned a few disapproving looks from both Diana and Gilbert, especially when it was their teacher’s cruel humiliation that forced her to shun school. Anne, however, addressed the situation accordingly, and bid her bosom friend with an encouraging thought.

“Don’t worry, my darling Diana. It’s like Jane Eyre said, ‘ _life appears to me too short to be spent in nursing animosity or registering wrongs_ ,’” she offered with a definite smile painted on her lovely face. Diana Barry returned a beam, and kissed her friend goodbye, leaving Anne to organize the classroom alone, with a listless teacher charging the duties to the unfortunate student on duty. Before leaving, Gilbert tried to offer his services to Mr. Phillips, but his teacher dismissed him and bade him home. Gilbert, however, waited for Anne to finish by the stream, preparing his exchange to avoid further embarrassment.

After a short while, Anne appeared stuffed in her coat and scarf and closed the door behind her. Gilbert practically dashed towards her side, similar to their first meeting when he went and rushed towards the door just to open it for her. When he recalled his past efforts, he stiffened at the thought of his apparent desperation, but he had already called her attention, so he was left with no choice but to face the girl who appeared understandably confused at his current state of hesitation.

“I—,” he started, feeling his hands shake despite his earlier practices, “I’m glad you’re back, Anne.” Anne considered him with a blank face, but the thought that she is meeting his eyes was already an absolute victory for Gilbert, so he paid no mind to the lack of friendly beams, “it’s really good to see you.” The girl only nodded at him and left Gilbert standing by the stream as the afternoon gleam outlined the departing figure of Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. Still, his heart beat louder—and faster—than ever, for this was probably the first time since their initial meeting where they were far from any critical looks, only two souls a few inches in distance. He found it heartening that he could approach her—scared out of his wits, that's for sure and certain, but undeniably feeling sublime nevertheless. Thus, he continued to direct a daily array of greetings to Anne in the following days, but remembered to remain in a polite distance, and offer the same acknowledgments to anyone she was with, so as not to cause further criticisms.

The monthly spelling bee, however, had roused the class to be more animated than ever, as competition rose to identify the best student worthy of such a momentous award. However, after Moody Spurgeon misspelled the word gorgeous, with him and Anne as the remaining students to stand before the class, Gilbert felt his heart race as he spelled the word ostracize. He turned his head towards her after their schoolmaster confirmed the precision of his delivery, and locked his eyes on Anne.

“Haughty,” Mr. Phillips announced, with his stare directed towards Priscilla Andrews. Gilbert sensed a welcomed chill flow through his body as he observed the fervent resolve of the very embodiment of the sun as she spelled the word with an unparalleled ardor that was making Gilbert’s knees grow weak.

“Callous.” Gilbert delivered the correct spelling of the word with ease. He returned his attention to Anne, catching her staring back at him for a slight second before she averted her gaze, and at that moment, Gilbert was certain he was ready to kiss her feet, as he bore into her more than he would allow. The words “penitent,” and “intentions” were chosen for them to spell consecutively, but as “persevere” was mouthed by their teacher, he noticed Anne feeling quite uncomfortable for some unknown reason, and it caused him distress. Did she catch his stares? Was he being untoward again? Should he apologize? Questions began to cloud Gilbert’s mind, so by the time Mr. Phillips had pronounced “engagement,” Gilbert found himself troubled enough that he had forgotten that the letter ‘e’ comes before the letter ‘m’ in engagement!

“That is incorrect,” their teacher announced, “the spelling, not the sentiment.” Although his standing as the best speller in their class had been reduced to second place, he could not find a worthier opponent than Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. He turned to look at her once again and found her gesturing a devious grin _directed at him_. While he assumed that Anne was probably mocking him for misspelling such an easy word as engagement, he felt the heavens open once again even if the girl was rejoicing his defeat, especially with her silhouette tracing the gleams of the afternoon sun. He returned a smile but felt his heart tighten when they were again a few inches away in distance after he found the courage to draw himself closer to congratulate her for her victory.

“I should have added the ‘e’,” Gilbert added, silently pleased at his clever statement especially to the girl who repeatedly introduced herself as “Anne with an ‘E’. So close in distance, he had the opportunity to trace the outlines of her face. From her big, blue eyes—capable of expressing the tempestuous ocean of her every fervor, her freckles—apt of matching the uncontained cluster of heavenly bodies, and her lips—polished of— _let’s not get ahead of ourselves,_ Gilbert mused to himself as he eyed the passing figure of Anne Shirley-Cuthbert returning to her seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as much as i love gilbert being the Ideal boy who would let anne win bc he noticed her discomfort anne winning the spelling bee was canon lmao dont @ me pls


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of which Gilbert keeps close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao i'm so sorry for this
> 
> i used Oh Wonder's ['Livewire'](https://open.spotify.com/track/6bpBsotzL05UzS1rHsIqk8)

**8.**

 

Saturday came with Gilbert Blythe sitting beside his father all afternoon, reading to him his favorite poems and hearing his father’s animated accounts of his glorious youth. Upon hearing the name of Marilla Cuthbert being repeatedly cited in his tales, Gilbert tried to suppress the temptation of asking his father about the older woman, but John Blythe knew his son more than anyone in the world. Thus, after Mrs. Kincannon had prepared a fresh platter of shortbread cookies, his father addressed the matter in a soft voice.

“You must be wondering what happened between me and Marilla, eh?” Gilbert looked at his father in surprise, pondering whether he was that easy to read, but his father continued, “Before I left for the military—I, well—back when we were—acquainted, Marilla and I were engaged romantically,”

“You weren’t really hiding that fact, dad,” Gilbert said, amused. His father returned a rather embarrassed smile, but his face changed after an instant, releasing a heavy sigh in the process.

“Marilla lost her older brother from an accident,” John started weakly in a slow, wheezing voice, “I don’t recall the details since their family had shunned everybody after that incident, especially with the rumors that their mother had become an invalid out of grief.” His father paused to cough up the phlegm clogging up his throat with Gilbert dreading the repeated appearance of blood in the wet cloths his father used, but John Blythe continued, “by the time I left for the military, I tried writing to Marilla, but she never did reply, so I—I suppose—I assumed I was already rejected. Although it wasn’t official, there was the prospect that she would be my wife, but—well, life happened. I didn’t dare return to Avonlea after that—knowing she was just a few miles away. It would be too difficult and wounding, so I settled in Alberta, and met your mother. Your mother was the most beautiful woman I have ever met. I loved her enough that no other person could ever replace her, and she had you—my beautiful boy—that I just—.” His father was crying now, his hands shaking from trying to balance his teacup, so Gilbert grabbed his father’s cup, and placed it on the nightstand. He moved back to his father, placed a gentle kiss on his head, and offered a soft smile.

“It’s okay, dad,” he whispered and proceeded to read another poem from his father’s favorite book, Walt Whitman’s _Leaves of Grass_. The afternoon carried on with Gilbert’s voice echoing throughout the walls of his father’s room, his voice comforting the forlorn tears of John Blythe.

That night, however, as Gilbert started to address another letter to his mother, he heard the endless hacking from his father’s room, and immediately attended to his father’s discomfort only to find him on the ground with an alarming amount of blood mixed with his spew. Gilbert ignored the tears welling up and carried his father back to his bed while shouting for Mrs. Kincannon’s assistance. The older woman—bless her heart—had begun staying with the Blythes at night for these past few days since his father was growing increasingly weaker at every passing minute. Gilbert’s inexperience was not enough to help his father, in comparison to Mrs. Kincannon’s knowledge of aiding sick people from her earlier years.

“Call for the doctor, Gilbert,” the woman instructed with a calm voice, but her eyes reflected the graveness of the situation. Nevertheless, Gilbert did as he was told and swiftly ran out of the house to mount his horse, and fetch the doctor from the neighboring town. The cold, damp air was a welcoming sensation to Gilbert, so as to aid in concealing the tears that continued to stream down his face. He tried—he really tried to challenge the impending reality that he would be alone after his father’s— _no, not right now_ , Gilbert held as he desperately tried to clear his thoughts, leaving the sole purpose of reaching the doctor as swift as he could, but the idea of being the last—the only was becoming more and more _real_ , that he felt his heart progressively tighten. However, a welcomed relief came when he finally arrived at his destination, and he began his journey back to his house with the doctor in tow. Mrs. Kincannon had cleared up most of the mess, but his father still looked like— _no, I can’t say it_. With the doctor examining his father, Gilbert helped Mrs. Kincannon clean the floor of his father’s room. The two carried the soiled carpet outside with Mrs. Kincannon trying to offer reassurance, but Gilbert heard no sound—just the heavy pounding of his heart. Upon their return, the doctor only had a few to say, with the bidding instruction that they should keep John Blythe as comfortable as possible.

Mrs. Kincannon thanked the doctor for his assistance, and Gilbert returned a faraway nod, his attention completely fixed at his father lying in the bed, basically just waiting for death’s door to come knocking. After the doctor’s departure, Mrs. Kincannon encouraged Gilbert to take a bath, especially after being exposed to the winter cold with only his night clothes to keep him warm.

“I’ll draw you a bath, and prepare tea,” the older woman bid, leaving Gilbert to fight with the persistent thought that he would be alone sooner than he thought. He moved to the stool next to his father’s bed, held his father’s hand, and kissed it, with a whispered promise escaping his lips.

“I’m here, dad. I’ll stay with you, and keep close, all right?” He eyed the single tear that streamed his father’s right cheek, causing him to kiss his father’s hand once again. “I’ll keep close.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise there's fluff in the next chapter i swear lmao


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of which Gilbert stays at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i used Layla's ['Oh My Love'](https://open.spotify.com/track/0KMrYUEfexgam36li6d9F0) for this chapter listen to it it's so cute lmao ! with all my love

**9.**

 

Gilbert Blythe’s insistence to remain at home troubled his father greatly, and it was accompanied with his constant biddings for his son to return, and “enjoy your youth”. However, because of the frustrations that kept building, particularly with the imminent _certainty_ advancing in the incoming months, weeks— _days_ , Gilbert accidentally snapped at his father one afternoon after another one of his persistent claims that Gilbert ought to return to school.

“Dad,” he cut sharply after shutting his reader with his irritation plain and his hands tight, “please stop pretending that you’re well enough. It’s already difficult as it is—just—just allow me to be with you. Why can’t you understand that? We don’t know how long—,” Gilbert stopped himself after seeing how clear the hurt was in his father’s face that it made him look more sicker and older than before. “I’m sorry,” Gilbert breathed with tears burning in his eyes that the ache searing in his chest had forced them to fall. “I’m so sorry, dad. I’m just—I’m just so scared,” he continued, and felt his father pull him closer, “I don’t want to be alone.”

“I’m still here, son,” his father returned, but that made Gilbert emit more tears, knowing that the likelihood of his father not being there anymore was rapidly progressing, but his father tightened his hold, “and I’ll continue to be with you—even when I’m gone.” Gilbert tried to ignore how his father choked on his words, but more tears only came, leaving him a complete mess, so his father offered another reassurance. “I’m scared too, but I lived a good life with you. You grew to be a wonderful and beautiful boy. Your mother would’ve been proud,”

“I just wish we had a little more time,” Gilbert weakly whispered, now causing his father’s tears to fall.

“I know, son,” his father returned softly, “I know.”

 

☾

 

Despite the difficulty of watching his father’s life drain away, dreading each passing day for the inevitable, and feeling the constant surge of hopelessness and ineptitude, Gilbert remained by his father’s side for the majority of the days as the dutiful son that he was, using books as both distraction and reprieve. He mostly acquainted himself with poetry, for his father favored the particularity of words that construct the emotions stirring within a poem. With his hands tracing a copy of John Keat’s _Endymion: A Poetic Romance_ , he considered Anne would be delighted to read this just from the first lines alone.

“A thing of beauty is a joy forever: its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness; but still will keep a bower quiet for us, and a sleep full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing,” he uttered with great interest reflecting in his eyes, causing his father to chuckle at his son’s enthusiasm.

“That was one of your mother’s favorites,” John Blythe apprised, making Gilbert more excited, “a beautiful poem with a beautiful message,”

“What’s the message?”

“Well now, you have to read it first, eh?”

 

☾

 

A week after his absence from school, Gilbert found himself throttled of being cooped up in his father’s room. It was not fair for his father, that much he knew, but decay continued to paint the walls of his father’s room—his entire house, rather, so he induced himself by performing random chores within close proximity as means of escape. Thus, there he stood before the cutting board, chopping up wood for their stove to ingest. His surprise, however, upon returning and seeing Anne Shirley-Cuthbert standing by the entranceway with his father standing before her brought both a thrill and a dread, but the thought that his father was standing caused more distress because he should be in bed!

“Dad!” Gilbert called as he hastily dropped his freshly-cut lumber to the woodshed, and rushed to his father, trying to still his heart that Anne would come willingly to his home, “what are you doing? You shouldn't be walking!” He tried to carry his father’s weight by reaching for his hand, and John Blythe obliged—probably a reassuring gesture to a distressed boy. Nevertheless, Gilbert felt relieved that his father relied on him, even if it was out of sympathy.

“My son worries too much,” his father announced to the girl who appeared unusually—restrained. Gilbert assumed Anne was not aware of his father’s condition, of which he was thankful for since it meant Rachel Lynde was not prattling on about their ‘pitiable’ situation to the rest of the community. He had enough pity in his life, thanks very much. “It seems this—,” his father paused to take a breather, and gesture at their guest, making Gilbert look at her as well. _Not that I’m complaining_ , he thought as he profited off of his father’s presence to grasp the opportunity to stare at Anne without restraint, “young lady has urgent business with you. I’ll go inside now.” The thought of being alone with Anne before any initial warning made his blood run cold. He was not ready, that's for sure and certain. He had to mentally prepare himself before he could even think of walking towards her, which was oftentimes useless since he continued to be a complete goop even with all the planning, so he grabbed his father’s hand, offering the older man to fetch his chair because he was very much worried about his father—and also because he was scared out of his wits. His father, however, appeared far too amused with Gilbert’s unease, and rejected his son’s offer, turning his attention back to Anne.

“It was nice to meet you,” John Blythe bid, “give my kind regards to Marilla.”

“I will,” Anne politely returned, “—of course, Mr. Blythe.” Gilbert continued to hold on to his father, but John Blythe only gestured an encouraging pat for his son to entertain their guest, even having the nerve to wink at him as he took a seat at the nearest bench. The idea reassured Gilbert, but of course, his insides continued to stir upon facing Anne once again.

“Those for me?” he asked coolly, trying his very best to suppress the heat that was making his cheeks flush. Anne breathed a rather awkward laugh—which was unusual indeed, especially since she never awkward around him. It was him who was often gauche from the sight of her alone! Nevertheless, she restored her composure and handed his books to him.

“Well, uh—,” he tried to start, suppressing the urge to knock his head on the door because he was making the situation more uncomfortable than it already was, “it’s kind of you to bring them by.”

“Mr. Phillips doesn’t want you falling behind,” Anne informed in a cool voice. His father suppressed a chuckle by the door, and it made Gilbert even more flushed, but he continued, for he never really had an opportunity to talk to Anne before, especially with the disapproving looks of their peers.

“I don’t either,” and with a brief second of nerve, he continued with an audacious grin, “if you’re going to beat me in class, I want you to do it fair and square.” Anne rolled her eyes at his audacity, but instead of being overridden with shame, he found her gesture endearing. Her feistiness really was amusing sometimes that it was making his knees grow weak.

“Yes,” Anne returned, “exactly.” Gilbert thought that this exchange was already enough to fill his dreams for a week, so he thanked her again for the books, and bid her farewell. The girl turned her back swiftly, and walked away, with her books dangling across her shoulder. As he closed the door, his father sat by the bench, looking far too entertained than Gilbert would have liked.

“Invite her to tea next time.” Gilbert looked at his father as if he was mad, for the idea of Anne Shirley-Cuthbert accepting _his_ invitation to tea was unthinkable—and completely delusional! “Nonsense, my boy!” his father declared after Gilbert expressed his sentiments, and with a mischievous grin, he continued, “if you don’t invite her, I will. Getting to the door, though—that’ll be a pretty piece of business, all right.” Gilbert only shook his head at his scheming father, finding himself smiling at the thought of Anne having tea with him and his father. That would be a sight, indeed.

“If she smashes a cup over my head, it’ll be your fault,” Gilbert returned in defeat, offering his father some ladyfingers Mrs. Kincannon had dropped off before she returned home to tend to her sick child.

“I’ll willingly take the hit.” John Blythe’s chuckles resonated across the room with the afternoon sun harrowing the lightness of the air, and for once Gilbert allowed himself to take a breath within the corners of his father’s room.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of which Gilbert shares a cup of tea with his father and Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the fluffy [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/f5eefzkqwyf9wy4f1hq7zk6qk/playlist/2pKErNGJ0CIHtB3x3rXORY?si=mi-1KwiFS46Y90Goo0Atew) with all my love !!

**10.**

 

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert did not return the next day, but Gilbert felt more comforted at the thought that he would have more time to prepare another set of baked goods for the cookies he prepared after her first visit was not exactly appetizing. He was acquainted with some recipes that his father and Mrs. Kincannon would often prepare, but he was far from being a baker, especially since his first attempt was too solid for even the pigs to nibble. He was determined, however, to learn. With Mrs. Kincannon’s help, he had managed to bake an acceptable batch of scones, perfect with the strawberry jam that they have received from their neighbors a few weeks back. His father joyfully watched the entire process and even noted that his baking was getting better. Gilbert felt his heart grow warm from the short swell of ardor that blanketed their home, so he returned a youthful smile to his father as he helped Mrs. Kincannon prepare lunch.

A few hours later, he found himself standing before a redheaded girl with her oversized-beanie coated with snowflakes, her cheeks and nose tinted red from the cold, and her lips blossomed with a temptation that—“Anne—hello,” he started, clearing his throat, and mentally reprimanding himself for his inappropriate thoughts, “I—uh, see—my father was wondering if you’d like to come in for tea?”

“Tea? With you and your father?” Anne sounded so surprised and frankly—appeared slightly abashed at the idea, and that made Gilbert feel weak, for, of course, she would not accept such an invitation, especially not from him!

“But if you don’t want to it’s—,” he countered, “it’s perfectly all right. I’ll see you. Thank you again for the books.” Gilbert was already in the process of shutting the door to Anne’s face. A terribly rude gesture that his father would frown upon, that's for sure and certain, but he really wished to run away now. However, Anne stopped the door from closing and expressed an exasperated reply.

“Gilbert Blythe, _you_ might find it repulsive to have tea with a poor orphan like me, but I’ll take your father’s offer, thanks very much! He seems lovely, even if his son is aggravating.”

“I don’t think it’s repulsive at all!” he exclaimed, opening the door wider to welcome her inside, “I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m sorry.” He received a small nod from the girl and asked for her coat. Anne responded to his hospitality in silence, but upon receiving her outer garments, he felt his heart tighten, for the distance between them was too close—far too close than Gilbert would have imagined since, in all honesty, he had never thought Anne would ever accept his invitation. But now though, there she stood, emitting a strong, earthly air that only appears to make her more incorporeal in nature. She was here, within his threshold, but still, she appeared unreachable. He wondered if that impression would ever be amended. 

“This is a lovely home,” Anne started, “where's your father?”

“We’ll have tea in dad’s room if that’s all right with you,” he said while directing her to his father’s room, “it’s not good for him to walk these days,”

“Of course.” They found his father lying on his bed, with pillows supporting him to sit up, and a wool blanket covering his lower body. The burning hearth felt more picturesque with Anne’s arresting presence, and John Blythe's reception made the atmosphere even warmer.

“Miss Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, I’m so glad you’ve accepted the invitation despite the short notice,” his father greeted, with his eyes reflecting the sincerity of his welcoming smile. A gesture Gilbert assumed Anne was not accustomed to—especially not at first encounters, for he found the girl hesitating before gesturing an equal sincerity brought by his father’s kindness.

“Please, Mr. Blythe,” Anne returned, “call me Anne, with an 'e,' if you please. I'm ever so delighted to be here. It’s a pleasure to meet you,”

“Of course, dear Anne with an 'e'. I’ve already heard some very nice things about you from my son, so the pleasure is all mine,” John Blythe eyed his son who was preparing their brew on the tea trolley, making Anne look at Gilbert as well. Gilbert felt his cheeks go red but maintained his composure despite his father’s quiet teasing.

“Did he now?” Anne turned her attention back to his father and composed a rather cold guise, or Gilbert would have assumed from the tone of her voice.

“Gilbert said you have a way with words. Your reading of—what’s the poem called again, son?”

“ _The Fisherman_ ,” the two children supplied simultaneously, causing both to share a look in surprise, before Anne reverted back to his father, and cleared her throat. John Blythe suppressed a delighted grin and continued Gilbert’s accounts of their guest.

“Yes, that’s the poem. He also mentioned that you beat him at the spelling bee. You must know your words very well, indeed. Have you tried writing?” The question delighted Anne with such intensity that the previous air of reservation was easily replaced. The room appeared to reflect the brilliance of her smile, with her eyes matching the glint of a thousand band of stars.

“Oh! It fills my heart with joy that you've asked me that. Yes! I’ve been writing a great deal. I’ve even created a story club where we write and critique each other’s work. I’m in the process of writing a tragical tale of a girl who was cursed not to touch anyone, or else she’ll suffer the most painful death,” Anne delivered with an unequaled vivacity that such luster failed to dim even though Gilbert interrupted, and asked if she would like sugar in her tea. The girl even thanked him, but immediately returned to his father of course, but he paid no mind, for the picture of Anne sitting with his father was enough to warm his heart.

“A story club? How lovely! The story is very tragical, indeed. Will you let me read it after it’s finished?” The question caused Anne to be more excited that she almost spilled her cup in her pinafore. Nevertheless, their conversation continued from their favorite writers to their most beloved works, as it kept illuminating the drab confines of malady enclosed within the room. His father would often include Gilbert in the conversation, causing the boy to grow more flustered than he already was.

“Would you care for another scone, Anne?” his father offered, a hint of mischief reflecting in his eyes, “Gilbert baked it especially.” His father’s blatant teasing embarrassed Gilbert, that's for sure and certain, but Anne did not appear troubled by the exchange. She simply thanked his father for his offer and bit another pastry coated with jam and cream. The excitement continued to fill the room, with the fusing of Anne’s and John Blythe’s laughter cleansing Gilbert’s entire soul as he watched the two interact as if they had been friends for a long time. When the brink of twilight was finally drawing, Anne jumped out of her seat and declared that she should head home, or Marilla would be very much upset. Upon preparing for her departure, she turned to John Blythe once again and expressed a bidding sentiment.

“Oh, Mr. Blythe! It truly was a pleasure to meet you. I have always thought that kindred spirits are difficult to come across, but I find it isn’t as scarce as I would’ve thought. I long for the time to talk to you again!”

“You’re always welcome at our home, dear Anne,” his father returned, “and I’m glad you’re just as wonderful as Gilbert would tell in his stories.” Gilbert might have imagined it, but he could have sworn he saw a hint of red tinting Anne’s pale, freckled cheeks, but the girl swiftly delivered a parting smile, and rushed out of the door before Gilbert could even propose to see her home. “I can see why you’re fascinated by her,” John Blythe beamed, “she truly is a sight to behold.”

Gilbert stood by the door, still mulling over the fact that Anne was in their house just a few seconds ago, sitting with his father as if they were the best of friends with no unnecessary formalities limiting her, and her laughter resonating within the walls of the room, causing him to draw a rather foolish, yet merited grin, "isn’t she just.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of which Gilbert shares a cup of tea with his father, Anne, and Marilla Cuthbert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the fluffy [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/f5eefzkqwyf9wy4f1hq7zk6qk/playlist/2pKErNGJ0CIHtB3x3rXORY?si=mi-1KwiFS46Y90Goo0Atew) with all my love !!

**11.**

 

“Oh, Mr. Blythe! Nightfall appears to yet again disrupt our engagement, but fear not, for the moon will continue to whisper hope as the sun will rise again on the morrow! I will see you soon, all right?” Anne cried but never forgot to shower a lasting smile that would suspend all the worries of the Blythe household for a short while. John Blythe had remarked of her presence just so during her fourth visit, and they found the girl at the brink of tears, for “never had another soul perceived of my presence that way, of course with the exception of my dear kindred spirits.” Her expression swiftly shifted into something gentler, with her smile warm and welcoming, and her eyes wet from tears as she placed her hand over John Blythe’s, and continued, “and I am glad to consider you one too,”

“I consider it the greatest honor, my lady,” John Blythe replied, earning more enthusiastic cheers from the young girl. Gilbert watched the scene unfold, and his father used his entrance to include him in a rather forced fashion. “Perhaps our dear Gilbert could also be a kindred spirit one day, eh?” Anne considered her response for a while, and finally whispered, “…perhaps.” Despite the apparent reluctance, hope elevated all negativities, with Gilbert directing a smile towards the girl then to his father, as Anne turned back to John Blythe to inform him about the ending of her story.

Back at present, Anne bid her goodbyes to John Blythe and gestured a curt nod to Gilbert, but before she left, his father’s parting words had stopped her from leaving.

“As always, it has been a pleasure, dear Anne. Please send my kind regards to Marilla,”

“Mr. Blythe, you’ve always considered how Marilla is faring. Would you like her to visit? I’m sure she’ll be delighted at the prospect. You’ve mentioned you had relations with her back in school, so I think that’ll be the perfect opportunity to get reacquainted, don’t you? Oh, how thrilling! A meeting of old friends! I’ll make sure to prepare the best treats for such an auspicious occasion! Farewell, dear sir! I shall await our next meeting! Goodbye, Gilbert. Thank you again for the biscuits,” Anne decreed without stopping, so when the door closed behind her, it left the Blythes rather astounded at the sequence of events.

“I could stop her,” Gilbert proposed after a few minutes of silence, “if you’d like,” but his father only refused the offer, even having the time to laugh at the situation.

“Your girl truly is something,”

“—she’s hardly mine—,”

“Now that I think about it though, it would do me well to finally have—closure with Marilla. That would do me well, indeed.” Gilbert smiled at his father’s decision and proceeded to ask if he would like another cup of tea.

 

☾

 

“Anne, if you don’t mind of course, but could you help me in the kitchen for a few minutes? I think we need more tea,” Gilbert implied, with a first hesitant Anne, but after a few seconds, she had managed to read the situation accordingly, and headed to the kitchen with Gilbert Blythe, leaving the two former lovers to disclose some matters that they had yet to settle. Gilbert instructed Anne to take a seat while he prepared to light the stove, and the girl followed without complaint. He was surprised, however, when she initiated a conversation with him. He supposed her visits had gradually begun to thaw her reservations for him, especially since she found his father delightful with no other eyes critiquing her every move.

“Where’s Mrs. Kincannon?” Anne asked quietly, looking rather awkward as she sat at the bench, and fiddled with her dress.

“She needed to run some errands, but I believe she’ll arrive soon,” Gilbert replied, and he received a curt nod from the girl before he was again inquired if she can be of help. He, however, politely declined her offer, and confessed the real intentions of his invitation. “I, uh, I think Miss Cuthbert and my dad had misunderstandings in the past, so I’m grateful that you've given them the opportunity to settle it before—before it’s too late, but dad has grown rather fond of you to deny your enthusiasm anyway,” he finished with a nervous chuckle.

“Was I being untoward?”

“No! I—no. What I meant was that meeting you was—you meeting my dad was good for him. He said it so himself often enough,”

“He really meant that?” Anne breathed, with a face so surprised that Gilbert thought she was seconds away from crying.

“Of course! He really likes you. But who wouldn’t really? You’re so—” Gilbert paused to consider whether he would continue, and express how utterly amazing she was with her romantic nature that manages to uplift everyone’s spirit without her even trying, with her determination to explore the secrets of the world as she interacts with a person’s soul—ever so open and welcoming, and with her brilliance all together, for even though she appeared to be a being that equaled the radiance of the sun, she still presented herself as someone so real—more so than anyone in Prince Edward Island. Before Gilbert was able to continue, Mrs. Kincannon appeared at the doorway with packages that required assistance. Thus, Gilbert immediately rushed to help the older woman, and the matter remained undisclosed even until they reappeared at John Blythe’s room with the two acquaintances welcoming their return. The afternoon continued with pleasant conversations, and upon their guests’ departure, Gilbert noticed Marilla Cuthbert carrying a bundle that she did not possess when she first arrived at their home and questioned his father about it.

“I don’t want any regrets, son,” John Blythe only offered. Although he did not fully comprehend what exchange drove his father to give Marilla Cuthbert those letters that remained in secret for over thirty years, Gilbert returned a nod in understanding.

“Did you find your closure satisfying?” he quietly asked while he tidied the dishes from the tea cart.

“Yes, it did my heart good. Very good, indeed,”

“We’ll have to thank Anne for that,”

“Won’t we just! Which reminds me, will you fetch some books of Lord Byron at the parlor? I believe Anne would be thrilled to recite a few verses, eh?” his father said, with a gentle smile on his face.

“She’ll be over the moon,” Gilbert expressed while carrying the dirty dishes back to the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is not related to awae lmao
> 
> but if you're a fan of netflix's adaptation of a series of unfortunate events, i just uploaded an [edit](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5pb2YN-ze1Y&feature=youtu.be) so check it out if u like yes with all my love !!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of which Gilbert has false hopes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i used RKCB’s ['31/10'](https://open.spotify.com/track/2YDCZEMZYbETqsIbpEoUpq?si=viS5rWG9SHCpmukix8aCpg)
> 
> it'll be sad now i'm afraid, so here's another [angsty playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/63Xpq0x6YfQwNt4B0Bbxwa) that is just legit sad lmao

**12.**

 

Gilbert Blythe was surprised to see Charlie Sloane behind the door a few days after Anne’s visit with Marilla Cuthbert. Charlie announced that Anne had to attend to some errands, so she asked him to deliver Gilbert’s books, and also some plum puffs that Marilla baked especially. Charlie’s visitations had decreased since Anne started bringing Gilbert’s books, and having tea with his father, but Charlie would regularly stay at the Blythe’s home during the weekends to help Gilbert catch up with their lessons. Moody Spurgeon would often join them until he would do something clumsy like stumble over a vase, and they would be too engaged in tidying up the mess before they could start studying again. Nevertheless, John Blythe expressed his enthusiasm for his friends’ visitations despite him growing increasingly weaker at every passing minute. The rowdiness that they brought in the household was something his father had missed especially, for Gilbert had grown too responsible to unwind and let all the troubles settle for a while. That particular statement had irked Gilbert one morning and caused him to run off with the purpose of settling the cattle. When he returned, he found his father crying, so Gilbert immediately rushed to his side, and profusely apologized for his failings.

“If someone were to blame, it should be me. I’m so sorry, my boy—my darling boy.” Gilbert sat with his father throughout the entire day, and engrossed himself with his lessons, but was still quick to attend to his father’s needs.

“You know what I—” John Blythe started. Gilbert looked up to his father and asked if he wanted anything. His father, however, had only declined his offer and continued even with Mrs. Kincannon entering to bring fresh sheets, and announce tea. “You know—what was the best thing about getting sick? Traveling west again. The train—God, I love a train. And those Rocky Mountains…,”

“They’re amazing,”

“Did my heart good. It’s a big world, son—and you’re young, healthy, and beautiful. You go where the spirit moves you, eh? Do things—do everything that you can to live a life with no regrets, but always remember to be kind to everyone—,”

“Dad, why are you—,”

“Just please—remember this,” his father finished and reclined his back further after he received Gilbert’s nod in response. The next day, Gilbert was once again carrying out random tasks to allow himself to take a breath. With the clanging of the hammer against the wheel of the buggy, he was not able to instantly hear Mrs. Kincannon shouting for his name, but after a short while, he heard, and swiftly ran to his house, only to find his father lying on the bed with the same position he had after Gilbert kissed him goodnight.

“He’s alive, Gilbert, but he won’t wake up. Call for the doctor, please.” Without delay, Gilbert proceeded to fetch the doctor in Carmody. Upon their arrival, the doctor immediately proceeded to examine the patient. However, after the assessment, he only offered the similar bidding he gave a few months back.

“I’m sorry, but he’s already in a vegetative state. I fear that it’ll only be days—or possibly hours before the inevitable arrives. Keep him as comfortable as possible, for there’s nothing more I can do. I truly am sorry.”

Gilbert remained by his father’s side that whole day, with his eyes red, and his hands cupped with his fathers’.

 

☾

 

The following day, despite Mrs. Kincannon’s constant urges for him to bathe, and eat more than two bites, Gilbert continued to sit by his father’s side. Nevertheless, the older woman was patient with his distressed state and even sat with him at both breakfast and lunch to make sure he consumed at least half the plate. Late in the afternoon, a knock was heard at the front door. Gilbert, however, was too troubled to concern himself with the visitor and allowed Mrs. Kincannon to entertain whoever they were. He heard an exchange at the entrance, with a familiar voice growing more and more clear. When he finally glanced at the door, he was not surprised to meet the enchanting eyes of the girl with the ever-radiant presence. He knew, however, that _this_ —she could not ease, but he would never put her in the position to attempt it anyway. Thus, instead of greeting her arrival, he turned back to his father, and muttered, “you should leave, Anne.”

“But, Gil—,”

“Leave, Anne,” he repeated, with his voice reflecting the weariness that should not be heard from a fifteen-year-old boy. His message was heeded, however, with Anne drawing herself back to the door. When he heard the door close, he noticed a single tear fall down to his father’s cheek. Gilbert paid no mind, though, and continued to drown himself with the hopelessness of the inevitable fate of his father’s impending demise.

 

☾

 

Two days after, his father remained unconscious, and Gilbert continued to refuse Mrs. Kincannon’s bidding to take a bath or lay his head on his own bed. Instead of the probable notion of the older woman that he was allowing himself to be lost in his thoughts, he forced his mind to be blank. He pictured a white canvas instead of facing the imposing reality that he was alone. _Alone_. _The Last_. _The Only_. _Lonely_. He refused to acknowledge that the world would be robbed off—that _he_ would be robbed off of John Blythe. He refused to acknowledge that he would never hear his father’s laugh ever again. He refused to acknowledge that there will come a time when he would forget his father’s voice, his safe and warm hands, his sincere smiles, his interesting tales, his amusing teasings, his easygoing personality, his delightful reactions, his encouraging spirit, his welcoming soul, his—.

“Gilbert?” a familiar voice called, and he was met by the weary but kind eyes of John Blythe, “why are you crying, my darling boy?” Gilbert felt his heart stop as he gaped at his father who was now pushing himself up, but Gilbert instantly stopped his father’s attempt, and gently cupped his face.

“You’re here,” Gilbert whispered softly and kissed his father’s head multiple times before he was stopped by his father’s weak chuckle.

“Yes, son. I’m here.” John Blythe smiled, and Gilbert felt the previous heaviness of the room lighten, as he called for Mrs. Kincannon for an early lunch. The older woman sat with them, as she narrated the accounts of the past few days, with the doctor’s final call, and Gilbert’s refusal to bathe and sleep in his room.

“You scared us out of our wits, John,” Mrs. Kincannon tenderly expressed, “but I think Gilbert can finally take a wash now, eh?” Light chuckles escaped the room, and Gilbert followed his elders’ instructions without further complaint, and finally took a bath. He returned to his father’s room carrying a bundle of letters and sat at the stool by his father’s bed.

“What’s this?”

“No regrets, remember?” Gilbert supplied, read his letters addressed to both his father and mother, and continued despite his father’s sobs growing louder and louder as he finished a piece. That night, with both John Blythe and Mrs. Kincannon’s requests, Gilbert laid his head on his own bed, and immediately found himself fast asleep.

The morning after, John Blythe had passed away in his sleep sometime last night, with his son’s letters spread across the sheets of his bed.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of which Gilbert is the last—the only.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao i used Houses' ['Big Light'](https://open.spotify.com/track/54Ay44i8X5ZQJSGmVcRFy6)
> 
> i'm sorry if it's short

**13.**

 

John Blythe’s procession was met with the pallid blanket of snow stretched out towards the horizon. From his father’s tales, heaven was always illustrated with the similar paleness, for the luster of God’s reach extends to the infinite stretch of paradise, but Gilbert only felt the draftiness of that winter morning—be it at the church as they commemorated his father’s eternal rest, at the march towards the Blythe’s burial grounds where the tombs of his forgotten brothers and sisters welcome their father’s arrival, or at the solitary bench beside the cherry tree—bare of leaves with its reaching branches comforting the lonely figure of Gilbert Blythe. Alone at his family’s graveyard, he finally allowed the tears to fall, piercing to the feel of his skin, but he paid no mind, for his heart ached more than he could ever fare. He was now alone— _the last and the only_ , but all he could do was cry with that hammering thought as his sole companion.

All the thoughts that he had kept in a masked state for the past months had come crashing, and in defeat, he welcomed those dangerous truths that _he was only a child_ —a mere child with nothing, but himself to live for anymore, and he had not any clue of what to do. He tried to prepare for the impending reality, but he only kept praying for a miracle, for as long as his father was drawing breath, there was hope, but now he laid on the ground, echoing the cold and the still. Underneath it all, it was only darkness, so where was God's light now?

His father would frown upon his growing doubt of the grace of the Almighty, but he was not to blame for not sensing His presence. Any form of comfort had no effect, even with the multiple consoles of his neighbors—even the presence of the girl who challenged such radiance brought no cheer, and he feared for his happiness. A selfish thought, he knew as he finally began to walk towards their—no, _his_ bleak home, but despair continued to tower over his rationality. He forced himself to control the urge not to storm into the house, and drive out the rueful attendance of the congregation, for he only wanted to lie in bed _alone_ , as he would always be—alone and lonely and—.

“Gilbert!” cried a familiar voice after he reverted back to embrace his desolation. His heart stopped when he sensed her presence closer than it had ever been in what seemed like years instead of a mere few days. Yet, he still felt nothing but the same wretchedness and dander, and he would _never_  allow Anne to be enshrouded by his misery, so he offered no words. Still, she tried to speak of how fitting a burial was in a white and still morning, and of how the minister’s tenor adhered to the mournful state of order, but when she finally addressed the reality that— _yes_ , he was now an orphan like herself, it peeved him more that he did not initially push her away, especially when he knew that he would find a way to be displeased with whatever comfort anyone would offer, even hers.

“ _You think I’m lucky?_ ”

“Compared to me—yes,”

“And why is this about you?” he returned, bringing about the similar fear in her eyes when he first saw her cornered by Billy Andrews. Anne was stuttering—the girl who had the power to move mountains and seas with her words alone, was stuttering, and Gilbert feared he would speak of more hurtful things if this went on, so he bid his farewell, but of course, Anne’s tenacity continued to prevail even at the most futile exchange.

“I’m only trying to help, Gilbert Blythe!” she huffed after harshly grabbing hold of his arm, which surprised him, for he still felt the heat of her touch even at this ungodly hour, but his need for isolation still surmounted this invitation of warmth, so his recoil appeared more unfeeling than he had intended. Thus, it earned a defeated retreat from the girl he had longed for more than anyone as she breathed, “why won’t you let me?”

“Why can’t you just accept that you can’t help me with this?” he snapped, and he tried— _he really tried_ , but his exasperation to the world had driven him to speak of words he would forever regret as he continued, “and frankly? If the only thing that would compel you to speak more than two words to me is for my dad to die, then I don’t want your help, Anne. You don’t have to force yourself anymore, so just leave.” To his request, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert walked away quietly, and instead of watching her leave just as he would have done before the world crumbled before him, he traced his steps back to the grave of his line with the wind howling the cries of despair, and in a bleak, cold winter, he inhaled the cutting truth that he would forever suffer the loneliness of night _alone_ , _alone_ , _alone_.

After another mournful gust, he released a scathing chuckle, for what appeared to be Eden had changed forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i tried to incorporate the poems of the following: Noel Coward's _"Nothing Is Lost"_ and Robert Frost's _"Nothing Gold Can Stay"_
> 
> btw i'm pissed at myself bc this was only supposed to be like a series of instances where gilbert's apparent hesitancy to approach anne are illustrated but fuck i just had to fill in the gaps i'm so hhhhhhhh i don't know how to progress this story but fuck it hhhhhhh but i am still vexed


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of which Gilbert finds reprieve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i used Bonjr and Thomas Reid's ['I Want You To Help Me Live'](https://open.spotify.com/track/5pSflTWYmlRVthO8CZpRem)
> 
> it's sad my babies

**14.**

 

The morning after John Blythe was laid to rest, with his body forever hidden beneath the Earth, and a final prayer that he would eventually find God’s welcoming arms upon his reception to the gates of paradise, Gilbert breathed a sense of relief. Relieve to the thought that his father’s suffering had finally come to an end, where he could finally take a breath after the years of his constant hacking, leading him incapable of drawing in a fresh respite. Relieve to the thought that his father’s hearty laughter would echo throughout the great expanse of eternal bliss. Relieve to the thought that his father would be reunited with his promised love, his life mate, his kindred spirit as they dance throughout the walls of His embrace in the world without end. Gilbert was also relieved that he would not have to suffer watching his father rot in his bed, waiting for death’s call to come and fetch him. Relieve that he was not required to put up fronts to hearten those who offer their sympathies. Relieve that he did not have to be ashamed of feeling sorry for himself and being angry at the world for leaving him to suffer this miserable fate alone. He was relieved that he was allowed to feel his grief and suffering and woe without any need to pay heed to others because this was an ache he alone felt, and not anyone else’s. This was _his_ , which was probably why he felt so displeased with Anne’s attempt to include her own suffering. He was aware that she was only trying to help, trying to acquaint her pain with his, but that was the whole point. She would never understand, nobody would, but she tried to involve herself without any effort of understanding _his_ suffering, and that would forever scar him, knowing that there would be people who would dictate how he should feel. Another selfish thought, he knew, but grief had the power to make the worst version of oneself become insistent, and it was another battle he had to bear alone.

Despite the insistence that he was allowed to be selfish, Gilbert would remember his civility. He politely thanked the endless baskets of pastries and platters of dishes that would continually disrupt him from his sadness. He offered his gratitude to the persistent figure of Mrs. Kincannon who would never fail to meet her daily visitations to the Blythe household. He also appreciated the efforts of his friends’ visitations, where his sadness would mellow down, and he would receive a short rush of warmth. Some days, however, he would find himself submerged with the unrelenting thought that despite these continual attendances, they still had the luxury of their own individual happiness. For despite the thought that his world was already lost in the sea of desolation, the rest of them lived on. The clocks continued to tick, even if his time was stopped, and he was, yet again, angry at that thought, for the world continued to move on, and he was left with no comforting thought. He could only clutch his blanket tighter, and shed bitter tears, with his quiet wails echoing the despairing period of decay. Whenever such episodes became too unbearable for him to stand, he would fetch the scattered pieces of parchment from his trunk and address every lament to his father. _I’m sad again, dad. I miss you, dad. I don’t know what to do, dad._ Every message would be a repetition of the other, but it would help him cope. Erratic scrawls of indecipherable script would paint the sheets, and with partial progress, he would allow himself a few hours of sleep for his weary heart had finally reflected the state of his beaten eyes—and heart. That was how Anne found him the afternoon of her visit with Diana and Ruby, with a fresh plate of shepherd’s pie sitting at the kitchen table.

“We hope it’s a comfort to you, Gilbert,” Ruby Gillis sweetly spoke, with her innocence still intact despite the recent casualty of the image of their burning home. Gilbert felt warm at that thought, so regardless of his eyes exposing another wave of unmitigated exhaustion to the world, he offered them a small smile, but was keen for concluding their visit. Diana Barry, however, disclosed the knowledge of Anne making the topping, and being a good cook, causing the girl to express a rather affronted declaration.

“But I would make a terrible wife!” She ran off before anyone could speak of another word, leaving the three in the most discomfited position before Gilbert addressed the situation by thanking them for their visit and politely asking them to leave. After the girls’ departure, he retired to his bed. Despite the thought of his eyes aching for the solace of sleep, he found himself grabbing a blank parchment and narrating the events of the afternoon addressed to the one and only Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.

He felt nothing, but hollow these past few days, with his desolation overreaching every fiber of his being, but a few minutes with Anne had managed to emit a short wave of reprieve, and it scared Gilbert. He cannot allow himself to continue to drown in his sadness any longer, for if an anchor would come, and rescue him from this dismay, he feared for the tight grasp that would imprison that very anchor to him, and him alone, and he would never allow that. Even if she was the sole bringer of light, he would never allow her to chain herself to his happiness, especially now that she was heavily invited by pity.

Thus, after the exchange he had with Marilla Cuthbert the following afternoon, he attained the solution. He would go away. He would go far, far away, and escape the ghosts that continued to haunt his house and his dejected soul. He would escape happiness too, but he feared for the thought that she was his _only_ possible happiness, and he would not hear of it. No, he would never allow that, for it would only cause heartache for the both of them. Heartache for him, for he knew he would forever pin for the longing that she cannot likely return, and heartache for her because she would only serve the purpose of being one’s possible salvation, and that would not do with love. Thus, he took the train to Charlottetown, informing no one, but a note to Mrs. Kincannon, for he feared the older woman would only worry about him more if he disappeared without trace, and at the nearest dock, he asked for employment, leaving his fate, as his father would often say, wherever the spirit would move him.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of which Gilbert sets forth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i incorporated the works of the lovely [melwritesthings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/melwritesthings/pseuds/melwritesthings), ["the glaciers made you and now you're mine"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15740115) and ["the sky was dark but you were clear"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15862926)
> 
> i tried to search for poems that would capture the image of their feelings for one another, but i wasn't able to find the perfect piece, but then i remembered this Masterpiece and just hhhhhh read it and love it !!!!!!! i asked for her permission don't worry but do read it !!!!!
> 
> i used the song ['Could Be'](https://open.spotify.com/track/6bzEcTXBs123CgRWKGnr6P?si=x4Sl3gurSJm91CLEDmZs8Q) by Glded

**15.**

 

Gilbert Blythe was well aware that the moment he showed himself to Anne Shirley-Cuthbert after staring at her from the shop’s window for the past five minutes, he was already a lost cause. The fact that this girl was staring back at him, _smiling_ , and breathing out his name in a desperate voice that he had only heard a few times when she was doing recitations, and the poem was nearing its end, causing its readers to feel a stir emanating from the verse, with her voice magnifying that very sensation, he felt his knees grow weak. She had her eyes locked with his, and she was _smiling_. What love-struck person could ever refuse such privilege? He started again, but she called his name for the second time, and that was it for him. He was confused, yes, but his elation effected by the image of this girl—this beautiful, _beautiful_ girl, looking at him, with a wide beam painted across her face was at its sublimity.

He had been craving for a familiar face these past few weeks. Nights, as he had expected, were the loneliest, particularly when he had to stifle his sobs, for the fear that the other members of the crew would hear him. _You’re in the real world now, boy,_ the port commissioner greeted after Gilbert was assigned to a specific station, _and real men don’t cry themselves to sleep_ , he could not help thinking. It was difficult, especially when he had been acquainted with the idea that vulnerability did not equate as a sign of weakness, but he supposed that was only acceptable when someone’s father was lying on his deathbed. Nevertheless, suppressing his feelings was never a challenge for him, for he thought he did exceptionally well with his friends, and even with his father, or he would have conducted multiple breakdowns that occurred every five minutes. The cut was still fresh though, but his need to acquire the validations of other people prevented him to showcase a miserable orphan boy. Instead, he presented his prevalent image of the boy who was charming, intelligent and was generally well-liked. His other crew members found him intolerable sometimes, but he did the job well, so they offered no further complaints. Still, he found himself missing his home, with a proper hearth inviting warmth instead of an old wood burner as the only means of comfort. Thus, when the very personification of home— _no_ , when the very epitome of the sun— _still no_ , when he saw a glint of red from the corner of his eye, he knew it was her, and it filled his entire being with the warmth that he had been longing for what seemed like a long time. Her presence alone was already a blessing for him, a breath of fresh air—a reprieve, but he remembered that _that_ was one of the reasons that led him to flee home in the first place. Thus, Anne presenting herself so willingly scared him, for he feared that he would not pursue an escape when his salvation was already right before his eyes.

He felt immediately foolish for thinking that she would ever _allow_ herself to be limited within his ideals after disputing over who was the one at fault, and him ending up defeated over her last statement, “Can you please _stop_ contradicting me?” She was a force of nature, uncontrollable and uncontained—the very drive that moves the earth to her decree. Thus, he smiled at his own folly for even thinking that he was capable of influencing this irrepressible fire—a fire that continued to burn even in the midst of her darkest hour.

“Gilbert,” she continued, “I am very sorry that I wasn’t more sensitive about your father, and what losing him really meant for you.” His body felt another surge of warmth flow through every fiber of his being as he recalled his memories of his father, each of them with John Blythe resonating his hearty laughs and heartfelt smiles, and he smiled at her for her efforts to apologize. He was certain it was not entirely easy for her to recognize her mistakes, particularly since he was the person she had unmindfully wronged. Nevertheless, he was relieved at the thought that even if people could not understand at first, they would eventually, and that brought in more hopes for the future.

“It’s water under the bridge,”

“I know so much more now than I did then,” and with a softened expression, she locked her eyes with his, and he felt the world stop—every sound muted, every person vanished, just two, lost souls searching for a sense of direction, as she whispered, “Anyway.”

“Anyway.” And time began to turn again, for they were never meant to be grounded by the earth, where buried hopes and dreams remained buried—no, they were bound to go forth into the great expanse. They were bound to grow from their dismal states of being. They were bound to blossom beyond measure. They were bound to  _live_. But first, he needed to leave, and explore life on his own. With his own eyes, he would capture novelties, and experience new beginnings, so that the next time she would meet his eyes, he would reflect the same wonder that radiates from hers every day. Thus, he cut their meeting short and proclaimed that he should return to his work, and Anne followed suit. He knew that she would never stop him from leaving. She would never stop him from paving his own path, just as he would never stop her, but he was tempted when she uttered the words,

“I’ve missed you.”

He admired her strength to follow through—a habit he was yet to uncover, that's for sure and certain. He remembered the bundle of letters hidden beneath his bed, with the scurried scripts of a desolate, besotted boy of things that remained unsaid, and recalled his father’s counsel on regrets, so he plucked up the courage, and spoke of the words he would forever regret if he too allowed it to remain unsaid.

“I’ve missed you too.”

“Come home someday,” she bid, her eyes tinted with an intensity that would forever remain unchallenged, for such force could only be held by the one and only Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, and he gestured a nod in compliance. He would return, of course, for there were still things he had yet to say—what was more, a promising prospect that he would stride alongside her, answering the calls of battle to go forth, with the road before them, and two souls, ceasing to be lost, as they continued to experience life together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i also incorporated Walt Whitman's _"Song of the Open Road"_ and an excerpt from Charlotte Brontë's _Jane Eyre_
> 
> i also made a recent anne and gil [edit](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7L8oKthPs5E&feature=youtu.be) so check it out if u want with all my love !!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Interlude: Of which Anne dreams of princes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my friend roi beta’d (?) this bc u know insecurities and the following chapter as well i just love my friends so much i hope u guys also feel Warmth like they’re just the best and my heart is full bc of them
> 
> i had a really hard time trying to find a perfect song for this chapter lmao but i think Sleeping At Last's ['Southern'](https://open.spotify.com/track/5VlyyFPHXdD5QtfScfqG2l?si=F2oRZCzoSUymevV_opzHIw) is a perfect fit (update: i also think Crow's Feet's ['Organs Made From Copper'](https://open.spotify.com/track/6Hevb8DoO369zBFeR4N5Z2?si=-aqYIMa-T4SSU17nWyjNMA) fits the story well so yes lol)
> 
> i also had a hard time trying to find gil's perspectives with his adventures abroad (bc i really hadn't traveled outside of my hot country before) so i had to research on that first lmao, but here's a short interlude lol a glance from anne's perspective but this will be the only interlude before the arrival of the boarders bc i really don't want to write about her time with them lmao idk how to make them interesting or wtv lmao so yeah i hope u like it with all my love !!

Before the world rose to the calls of a faraway beam, Anne found herself before the fiery furnace, tracing the outlines of the flames with her eyes lost in a story yet to unfold. It was the day before Christmas, and the Cuthberts had been blessed with the Lord’s Grace—or so Marilla would often state. Nevertheless, Anne remembered her prayers, greeting the God Almighty’s Presence with the powerful, “Gracious, Heavenly Father!” Her vivacity loud and clear, and her face oftentimes painted with tears, for such year it had been since her arrival to her haven, her sanctuary, her _home_.

She never failed to dream of princes—armed with the valor of a knight, sculpted with the beauty of a Greek deity, and matched with the intellect and imagination of her own. She never failed to dream that her prince would someday rescue her from the woes of her tragic beginning. She never failed to dream that she would walk alongside her prince, masked with a bridal veil trailing behind her willowy figure, vowing to be theirs forever. Beneath those phantasmagorical reveries, she never dreamt that she could ever have a touch of warmth. She never dreamt that she would have the privilege to be a child—a daughter more so. A daughter. Someone’s daughter. Matthew’s and Marilla’s daughter— _their_ Anne. Matthew’s Anne. Marilla’s Anne. Diana’s Anne. She belonged, and she was loved—more so than she could ever imagine, so now she dreamt of her pensive prince with the face of her dear kindred spirits, dancing across the great expanse, and her circle continued to widen. More often than not, she would recognize Jerry, Ruby, or dear Miss Barry as her beloved prince, and she allowed it to transpire, for such people were capable of catering to the blossoming and softening of the soul.

However, after a clumsy twiddle with Jerry, John Blythe appeared as the figure of her prince, with her hands clasped with his, and a familiar warmth emanating from his very spirit—a warmth that would forever remain no more. She felt her lips tremble, hot tears filling her eyes, but John Blythe only returned a kind smile, and they continued to sway along the rhythms of silent hymns. She woke up the hour before the dawn, and now sat before the fire, finally recognizing the visions she had painted with the flares. Warmth brushed through the canvas, and with it she wore her dress tailored in the fashion of the saplings and the blossoms of her dearest Snow Queen, with an array of flora adorned in careful detail, and of course, her prince, interchanging the figures of her dear kindred spirits after every twirl, until John Blythe, with his gentle smile, was the only face she saw. She wished she could hear him laugh again though, for such winter truly was something she needed a reprieve from. A death of a friend. A stroke of her most beloved. A threat of losing her home. A prince out to explore the world. A prince— _yes_ , for she had caught him once in her arms, feeling a familiar exchange of warmth, but this was different. Closer to Diana’s, she would suspect, but still different, for she never felt the need for reservations with Diana. She suspected it might be the difference of gender, but she would present herself to Jerry, and to any other boy her age with equal fervor. With Gil— _that boy_ , though, she felt restrained, even naked at times, and she had not any clue of what to do. With him gone though, an emptiness was yet to be filled—an emptiness she felt when she thought for a mere second that Matthew would be gone forever, or an emptiness lost forever because of the demise of John Blythe, a man who accepted her so willingly, it scared her for a moment, but he received her with open arms, even complimenting her hair! _What wonderful red hair_ , he said! This very bane of her existence was wonderful to his eyes! Of course, he would have a part of her heart forever. She suspected Gilbert was also meant to have a part of her heart, but never mind that now. He had gone far away, and it would probably take years before she sees him again—if he meant to return at all. There might had been an exchange—a promise, but really, never mind that now.

“Good morning, Anne,” Marilla called by the stairwell, “you’re up early.” The paintings from the fire were disturbed, but Anne captured its beauty nonetheless. The thought made her stand from the bench, and gather her scarf and coat before another word was said, causing Marilla to fright over her impulsiveness. “Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m sorry, dear Marilla, but I have a short errand to attend to. It’s a matter of great importance!”

“You most certainly will not! You will return to the bench, and explain yourself now.” The older woman remained silent as Anne spoke of her plans, and continued to remain silent, before instructing the girl to dress for the day. When Anne returned to the kitchen to help set up their breakfast, Marilla Cuthbert addressed new arrangements for the girl’s plans. “You are a thoughtful girl, Anne, but you must finish your chores before anything else.”

“Understood, but won’t you come with me, Marilla? He will be so pleased!”

“Someone needs to stay with Matthew, Anne, but I’m certain your visit alone would already make him happy.”

“Oh, Marilla. I do hope so! I can already see his wide beam with stars reflecting in his eyes!” The older woman only smiled and proceeded to toast the bread, with Anne’s melodic symphonies resonating throughout the walls of the kitchen. As discussed, Anne diligently carried out the needed tasks around the house and finished decorating the tree with dear Matthew still engaged in making ornaments as requested by Anne. Kissing Matthew in gratitude, she gathered the necessary requirements and proceeded to fasten the trimmings of her arrangement—similar to the presentation she had made for her  ~~disastrous~~ first tea party with her darling Diana. Nonetheless, she knew this would be exquisite!

After kissing Matthew and Marilla good-bye, she set off, maintaining a careful balance, for she wanted nothing, but perfection for this momentous occasion. Fortunately, she did not encounter any uninvited approaches, particularly with that brute, Billy Andrews, and arrived at the Blythe’s burial grounds, with her present still as elegant as she had first arranged. Before the tomb of John Blythe, she laid the wreath she had made with an array of foliage, embellished with pine branch cones, decorative berries her darling Matthew helped assemble, tiny crafted snowflakes, and even some shells she collected from their trip to the beach. Kneeling to the blanketed earth, she also placed an offering of carefully wrapped Gingersnaps she had snuck from Marilla’s kitchen.

“This will be our little secret,” Anne started, and lit the candle she had also snuck from the house, “I’m afraid I’ll have to return this though, for Marilla will be greatly crossed.” By chance, she heard the brushing of the lone, cherry tree, shifting a familiar gust as the branches began to dance along the phonic rhythm of warmth, making her whisper the words,  “I hear the wind among the trees, playing the celestial symphonies; I see the branches downward bent, like keys of some great instrument.”

Between them there was only stillness—no words uttered, and only a single, living breath was amid the exchange of two souls, yet all were heard. Yes, all was heard, and Anne joined in the hushed melodies produced from the lightness of the air.

”Hearing you laugh again is such a sublime pleasure. I wish Gilbert was also here to hear it—.” She could hear another ringing, a containment uncontrolled, and a thrill ever so gleeful. John Blythe always loved to tease his son, and now Anne had also been graced of such honor, nonetheless, she returned a soft smile, and continued, “nevertheless, I pray he’ll hear you though—wherever he may be. I pray he’ll hear you whisper tales of comfort and encouragement. I pray that he’ll feel your presence amongst the trees, the breeze, the earth, even the people he’ll meet. I pray that he will never feel alone, and remember that he will always have you, for two beautiful souls are always kindled with each other’s flame—a union even death can’t separate. Finally, I pray for both your happiness, especially your peace.”

She bid her farewell after a promise that she would present him with crafted flowers on her next visit, however, a distinct quavering upon passing the Blythe’s barn caught her interests. Thus, instead of overlooking such tinkle, she crept to examine the source of the sound in careful steps, and as the door creaked open, she heard her heart sing from the image she had managed to capture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used a quote from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's _"A Day of Sunshine"_
> 
> lmao i used a saying wrong lmao omg im sorry but i replaced it so yes i used Marcel Proust’s quote instead lmao


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of which Gilbert discovers another's inconsolable grief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i used Novo Amor's ['Anchor'](https://open.spotify.com/track/7qH9Z4dJEN0l9bidizW7fq?si=oSLlCJ_UTx66zzXH7F2kZg)
> 
> it's sad my loves but u know hopeful sad lmao
> 
> this was beta'd (?) by my friend prince i love her ok lmao

**16.**

 

“What’re ya always scrawling there, boy?” a hoarse voice called from a near distance. Looking up, Gilbert Blythe found Willie Perkins sitting on his bunk, with his great, white beard coated with coal dust, face covered in grime, and eyes hollow and blue. Despite the places that he had managed to visit these past few weeks, anxieties continually overcame his rationality, with the furnaces continuously roaring, and the unsteady pitching of the vessel causing a number of men to oust untimely gagging. This experience was far from the ideal adventure that he would dream of when he was a kid, that's for sure and certain. The residual heat from the boilers troubled his few hours of sleep, not to mention how the mixture of malodors not only was a constant presence in his wake but was now a reoccurring awareness that would continue to haunt him in his sleep. Nevertheless, despite the inhumane environment challenging the veracity of “real men,” his first time slipping to the deck brought about the boost that his father would often state from his own adventures. On the deck, with the great expanse of the sea within his reach, Gilbert Blythe felt the comforting wisp of a winter chill. He felt the distant embrace of home, but today, it caused him to be more restless, for he was alone on Christmas day, with no one and nothing to help soothe his pain, so he scribbled and scribbled and scribbled, but Willie Perkins brew a storm, causing him to snap in anger to the world.

“What’s it to you?”

“Now, now,” Willie Perkins returned in surrender, “Don’t mean no offense, eh? Just curious is all.” Gilbert Blythe had constructed the guise that would allow him to accommodate every single expectation of his rotating crewmates, but now he found that he needed a friend, so he brought down a few walls, and allowed a conversation to uplift his spirits. Anyone would do, even quiet Willie Perkins who he had only exchanged two words to before today.

“Letters. I write letters to—to people I know. My father said it helped him cope when he was in the military, so I adopted the habit,”

“You sending them off?”

“No,”

“Why not?” Gilbert felt the tears burning his eyes when he thought of the immediate answer to the question. _Because nobody would read it. Because they were all rotting bags of flesh, left forgotten to the world as the still and the silent consumes their very existence until they were nothing but consigned to oblivion_. Gilbert turned his back on Willie Perkins, and tried to stifle his tears from falling, for not even the smallest hint of snivel should be free for anyone to know. Willie Perkins knew nevertheless. Instead of telling the boy off by saying that crying was for sissies, and that “real men” would never sulk over their journals filled with feminine bents, Willie Perkins narrated a story.

“I have a wife, see? Name’s Clara—very beautiful. We had a horrible first few years, see? We got married fast ‘cause I got her pregnant when we were just sixteen. We were foolish kids, very foolish, but well she loved me, and I loved her, but she wasn’t—she was a very sad girl. After our first—a daughter named Susan—that one’s as beautiful as her mother—after our first, we tried to get back on track, yeah? We never did, of course, but we managed, but a few years back, Clara got worse. Her sadness, I—well, her sadness grew wild. So with Susan, my two boys, Pat and Ed, and Susan’s own Nellie, we tried to help, but—.”

“Is she—,” Gilbert whispered softly, his back still turned from the older man. Despite the unremitting growl of the heater, Willie Perkins was able to hear him and breathed his response in a similar tone.

“I left a few days after she died. Clara was my—we went through a lot together, yeah? But a life without her? Where I can’t follow her? I just—,”

“Your children—.” Gilbert sat up, with a trail of tears drying from his cheek, but he quickly brushed it off upon hearing the multiple footsteps of men climbing down the bunker. Willie Perkins continued all the same.

“Haven’t heard from them in six years. Must think I’m dead, and rightly so,”

“You’ve never written to them?” Willie Perkins coiled up in his bunk, trying to stifle his sobs, but failing miserably. The men who arrived a short while ago were fortunately too engaged in catching up with their sleep, so as long as the man did not bawl out his woes, they left him to cry alone in the Yuletide undisturbed. Gilbert waited until the older man’s tears had gone dry, but found Willie Perkins subjected in his own inconsolable grief, so he laid his weary head in the stiff pillow, and closed his eyes, for sleep was the only reprieve powerless preys of malaise can achieve.

In the following days, Willie Perkins continued his previous practice of barely exchanging two words to Gilbert Blythe. They would diligently feed the furnaces, and their insatiable appetite for coal, where clouds of incandescent fuel motion the vessel to forward. Yet, upon reaching the shores of a seaport in Maine, Willie Perkins snatched the boy after they have finished their tasks for the afternoon, and led him to a desolate peak overlooking the falling of twilight.

“I need your help, boy,” Willie Perkins started, causing Gilbert to fright over the possibility of what men could do. He heard some stories of seafarers’ disputes, making the ocean the best accomplice for whatever feat, but upon hearing the following words, he felt his heart grow steady—warm even. He felt his heart grow warm for what seemed like the longest time. “I need you to help me write a letter to Susan, and Pat, Ed, and little Nellie,”

“Of course.” Gilbert smiled with a sincerity that he thought would be gone forever—together consigned in oblivion with his father, but here he was, with his heart warm, and his smile sincere, aiding to mend the circumstances brought by the misgivings of another, while helping him—in a way, to mend his own qualms. “What do you want to say?”

“I want to go home.”

Willie Perkins, with his great, white beard still coated with coal dust, his face still covered in grime, and his eyes still hollow and blue, curled up like a boy—a sad, lost boy, and spoke of his self-condemnation, howling it to the wind and sea. Shadows tinted the sky and argent beams convene, but with the faraway streak of the setting sun, Gilbert Blythe recorded every word that exposed the six years of inconsolable grief like an evensong of contrition calling for the grace of sanctification to welcome him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've incorporated Tara Estacaan's " _Dusk At The Countryside_ "  
> i got the idea of gil ghostwriting letters from the anime Violet Evergarden it's nice watch it if u want with all love !!

**Author's Note:**

> i'm [tiredsosleeping](http://tiredsosleeping.tumblr.com/) on tumblr and i have lots of love to give so hmu if u want !
> 
>  
> 
> lmao i also make [video edits](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCS-T5oquVXMGnIOr8y8W1Qw?view_as=subscriber) check it out if u want lol
> 
> if u liked Kevin Garrett's Never Knock, i made an [edit](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SeTV3JmNzkE) and if u liked The Paper Kites' Bloom here's an [edit](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7L8oKthPs5E&feature=youtu.be) lmao watch it if u like yes with all my love


End file.
